


Flowers Over My Heart

by TheCowJumpedOverTheMoon



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor Has Anxiety, Connor is the client, Connor just wants new experiences, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Fair warning - this won't have smut because I don't write it, Hank Anderson Deserves Happiness, Hank Anderson Is a Sweetheart, Hank Anderson Swears, Hank is a tattooist, Hank is less of an outward bigot in this, Hank is wise, I like writing Nines as the disaster sibling, I may just never mention it again, Jerry is Hank's voice of reason, Let androids get tattoos 2020, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post Revolution, Post-Canon, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), So have some background Reed900 for your sins, Soz, Strangers to Lovers, Tattoo AU, and I as an author am very sentimental about tattoos, is that a tag? Idk, it may or may not be a plot point, it will have romance a-plenty though!, no beta we die like men, something warm and fluffy to make 2020 a little less depressing, strangers to friends to lovers maybe?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24752416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCowJumpedOverTheMoon/pseuds/TheCowJumpedOverTheMoon
Summary: Hank has left the DPD behind to pursue an old dream of becoming a tattoo artist. Everything seems normal, until an android walks into his parlour, asking for a tattoo....It's a HankCon Tattoo AU baybeeee✌️
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 60
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

Hank hadn't tattooed an android before. He'd never had an android walk into his shop to ask for a tattoo before, either. It honestly wasn't something he'd ever thought about or considered - even when Jerry started working for him a few months back. He wasn't sure what that said about him, that he hadn't even toyed with the possibility. 

So when Connor walked into his shop, LED still proudly on display, and asked if Hank was willing to tattoo an android, he found himself somewhat dumbfounded. He wasn't against it, _hell_ , Hank lived for a challenge, but he didn't even know where to start. Of course, he tells him, although he's never done so before. Connor shakes his head lightly and raises a hand - it's no trouble, he explains, he just wants to know if he's willing to give it a go. 

Hank could have guessed Connor was an android even without the LED, he thinks; cover model good looks, great posture, perfect hair. Not an imperfection on him. Immediately, Hank could see he carried himself with such an air of confidence that he'd never expect to see in a human. Humans who were confident had a kind of swagger about them, often an arrogance or self assurance, or in rare cases, an air of wisdom. No, Connor was a man fully in control of himself. It was admirable in a lot of ways; Hank wished he could carry himself in such an effortless way. Even with his age, and his supposed wisdom of his years, he could be awkward, brash, standoffish. He was comfortable enough in his own skin now, he knew it well enough, but that was about it. He was still plagued with the same self-doubt and anxieties that most humans were. Ah, to be an android with heightened intelligence, he often thought. No worries, no doubts. 

Then Deviancy happened, and the Revolution happened, and he'd changed his tune. Androids were just like everyone else, with their fears and confusion. Maybe they didn't fear in the same ways humans did, but they _felt_ , just like everyone else. Hank may be old but he wasn't a complete bigot; he'd had his doubts that androids weren't sentient the moment Cyberlife had made its first press release, and the Revolution just confirmed what he'd suspected - they were alive. Of course they were. 

But Connor….Connor had something different about him. Later, _much_ later, he'd find out that he was a prototype, his primary function very different to most of his fellow androids, and in a lot of ways, that set him apart. In time, he'd learn that the confidence Connor exuded was a front for someone who was just as lost as everyone else. But Hank didn't know that yet. 

He took his name, jotting it down in the client log (no surname, but Connor did offer a serial number), before introducing himself with a shake of hands, inviting him through to the main area of the studio. He led him past the other tattooists who were busy working on human skin, a lively buzz of music and light-hearted banter filling the room. Hank noticed the raised eyebrows as Connor passed, but they didn't say a word, and neither did Connor, not even casting them a sidewards glance. Hank led him into a small side room, the office they used for consultations, and once Connor took a seat he pulled the door quietly closed. 

"So, Connor, was it?" The android nodded politely. "What did you want to get done?" 

"A dwarf gourami," he replied, raising a hand to display a small screen showing the image of a small fish boasting vivid blue and orange hues. Hank couldn't help but think it was a neat trick. Maybe he could get Connor to pull up the design while he worked for reference. Would that be weird to ask? Wonders of technology.

"I can do fish," Hank replied nonchalantly, "but I'm a little wary about your skin taking to the ink. If I'm honest, I don't think I know _anyone_ who's tattooed an android before." 

"I understand it's a lot to ask," Connor replied curtly. "If you're not comfortable with it, I understand."

"Well, it's not that," Hank interjected, shifting in his seat to cross one leg over the other, "It's precisely the fact that no-one's done it that makes me wary. We don't know what effect the ink will have on your skin. I can't pretend to know what your skin is made of, but I know the ink likely won't take in the same way. On human skin, the tattooist works in the ink past certain layers of skin so it penetrates it, and that's what makes it permanent." For good measure, Hank pointed at the tattoos on his own arm. "We simply don't know if the ink will take to your skin in the same way. But honestly? That's the _least_ of my worries." 

Connor's face dropped, and it was hard to ignore the rejection and disappointment etched across his face. Hank lowered his voice a little as he spoke again, softening his tone. 

"I don't want to hurt you in any way, Connor. I don't know if that ink will cause you any damage - short term or long term. I have a duty of care to my customers. But if you have any insight into how this could be done safely, then…" he spread his arms wide, "I'm all ears." 

Connor's pout transformed into a full blown grin and his shoulders dropped with relief. "I do, as it happens." He flicked at his hand, swiping away the fish image to instead showcase a technical looking video of an android arm. It reminded Hank of the science videos he'd been forced to watch in school. 

"Our skin was made to reflect that of a humans; similar texture, resistance, and so on. The idea was for us to appear as human as possible." He spread his fingers across the screen, zooming in closer to show the inner workings of the arm. "In theory, a tattoo could be applied to the skin in the same way. You won't find that we bleed or redden in the same way a human would, but outside of this the process would still be the same. The layers of skin you would normally work with are still present in an android, but as you can see here we don't have the layers of muscle a human has. I won't go into the technicalities but if you break past those layers you'll be met with a very hard substance." He pointed at the metal-looking inner structure. "You could use a lighter or firmer approach, depending on what works best, and as I don't feel pain in the same way, there would be no real risk of hurting me. And realistically speaking, the likelihood of you ever hitting my exoskeleton is exceptionally low. If you got close, I'd be happy to give you a fair warning." Satisfied that his explanation had been clear enough, he swiped at his hand a final time, and the image disappeared.

Hank pursed his lips and nodded in approval. It seemed straight-forward enough. It would take some getting used to, but it was do-able. 

"Okay. So say I do this for you and something goes wrong." 

"Not a problem," Connor assured him. "I'm happy to sign a waiver in advance, absolving yourself and your studio of any wrong-doing in the event that I have a negative reaction to the work. I've already drawn a form up for you to review." He leaned down to open his bag, pulling out a stack of forms. "I'll of course, make any amendments you feel I may have missed." 

Well, colour Hank impressed. Connor had done his research. He took a moment to read through the form, it was thorough alright. Similar to the standard forms his clients would sign when they got tattooed, so nothing set off any alarm bells. It was hard to say no to an offer like this, especially when the android was agreeing to write the damn legal documents for him. Hank didn't have the brains for paperwork, or the patience, and he could always get Jerry to look over the form for peace of mind anyway. Glancing over the form again, he thought, to hell with it. The kid seems genuine, and perhaps against his better judgement, he trusted him to not screw him over. And hell, he was excited! It wasn't every day he got to tattoo a new _species_. His mind was reeling at the possibilities the new skin could offer artistically - and he was curious to explore this brave new world with Connor. 

Hank rose to his feet, and Connor's eyes flitted between him and the door, as though he expected Hank to lead him out of it. Instead, he stepped forward, extending his hand. "You've got yourself a deal." 

Surprised, but undoubtedly pleased, Connor's expression lifted and he took Hank's hand, shaking it firmly. "When can we start?" 

Hank retracted his hand, taking a seat once again behind the table. "I'll need a few days to draw up the design, but I did want to suggest something first before we start the piece." He paused, glancing across at his client. 

"Go ahead." Connor urged. 

"I think we should do a patch test of sorts - it's something that a hair stylist would usually do, trying a bit of dye on the skin, leaving it for 48 hours to see if the client has any adverse effects. We could do something similar for you - I'd suggest a small, simple piece, something that will take a couple of minutes. We can leave it for 48 hours, see if there are any initial reactions your skin has to the tattoo, and we can review from there. It means if you do have a reaction, it will be small - and if not, we can always cover it up with another piece or the planned one if you want." 

"That makes sense," Connor mused, considering the idea. "What sort of design would it need to be?" 

"Well," Hank started, scratching at his beard, "Something small that's easy to cover if need be. A basic shape like a star or a heart would work." 

"A heart it is." Connor declared, lifting a leg to cross it over his knee before pulling his trouser leg up lightly to expose his lower leg. "Would here work?" he asked, pointing at the pale, bare skin just above the ankle. Bare, except for a couple of small freckles. The tech's at Cyberlife really did think of everything. 

"Yeah, sure," Hank nodded in agreement. "We can do it now if you want?" 

" _Really_?" Connor seemed pleased with this, especially eager. Hank wasn't sure he'd ever seen someone so excited to get inked - although he supposed it was his first time. Maybe it was his first time for a lot of things.

They discussed a few more of the finer details, Hank jotting some notes down about Connor's design preferences for the fish tattoo in his notebook before leading him out to the studio again. He instructed Connor to take a seat in the waiting area as he prepared the table for work, asking him to sign the form he'd written up, letting him know that he had no amendments. 

Usually at this point in the process the nerves would begin to kick in. He'd expect to see the client fidgeting in their seat, biting their lips, something like that - _especially_ if they were a first timer. But Connor waited patiently, arms folded on his legs, perfectly still. _Androids, eh._

__

__

When the seat and tattoo area was fully prepped, he beckoned the man over again, instructing him to take a seat on the plastic coated chair. Hank wasn't sure how much benefit the sterilisation held for Connor, but he wasn't about to get lax on his safety measures, so he'd prepared the area the same way he always did. Hank directed Connor to rest his leg to the side and fold up the trouser leg; he wasn't sure if he'd get cramp the same way a human would, but he wanted him to be comfortable either way. After placing a simple outline on the skin to show Connor, he seemed happy enough with the placement, so Hank popped the lid off the ink well, ready to begin. 

The buzz of the machine filled the air and he gave Connor one last questioning look. "You ready?" 

He simply nodded, a pleasant smile on his face, not an inch of fear or anxiety. Hank shot him a quick half-smile in return, before leaning down and pressing the machine to artificial skin. 

He wasn't sure what he expected to happen really; for Connor to cry out, or jolt. He always braced himself slightly for that first touch to skin, you never truly knew if someone was going to move suddenly the first time they felt the needle hit the skin. But Connor didn't move an inch, didn't react. And he stayed that way for the duration, a mere seven minutes. The small, black heart outline he'd drawn onto his skin looked the same as anyone's tattoo would, except for the absence of red patches around the surface of the skin. He switched the machine off, giving the area a wipe down with antiseptic on a tissue, and that, _that_ was when Connor reacted, a light shiver escaping him which he seemed almost _embarrassed_ about. Maybe it was a temperature thing, Hank mused. 

He looked down to admire his handiwork, encouraging Connor to do the same with a wave of his hand. A gentle smile crept across the androids face and he seemed pleased, genuinely _thrilled_ , with the tiny little heart Hank had scrawled onto his skin. It was nothing special, but he was clearly a satisfied customer. How anyone had ever questioned androids having emotions, Hank could never figure, and Connor was living proof - hell, his feelings were evident clearly all over his face. And damn, if that didn't give Hank a swell of pride at being the cause of it. He was always pleased when a customer was happy, it was one of the many joys of the job, but _this_ felt different. There was a significance to it, he thought; not just because he was an android and that in itself might be something of a milestone in his personal career, but because of the sheer joy the kid seemed to feel from a simple heart. 

Hank didn't realise he'd been staring, not right away, until Connor spoke and pulled him out of the trance. 

"I love it. Thank you, Hank. How much do I owe you?" 

Hank shook his head. "Nothing for this. You'll need to pay the deposit up front for the next appointment today, if that's okay." 

_If that's okay_ , he scoffed to himself, like it wasn't the damn store policy that _he'd_ written. Connor seemed at a loss, and started protesting until Hank waved a hand and shook his head interrupting him as he spoke. "Let me put some wrap around that. I don't think you're likely to see much ink seeping out, but better safe than sorry." 

Connor nodded, bemused, turning his heel slightly so Hank could lift it and wrap cling film around his lower ankle. He was lighter than he expected - he didn't know much about android anatomy, but weren't they made of metal or some shit? A question for the next appointment, maybe. Connor seemed happy enough to talk about his physiology when asked. 

Once the wrap was completed, he helped Connor to stand (again something he _didn't need to do_ , he reminded himself) before leading him to the counter as they agreed the next meeting. They decided 48 hours minimum between tattoos was the best bet; Hank wanted to assess the quality of the tattoo after some time, but he was booked-up way past that. He managed to squeeze Connor in for a week's time, which gave him more time to work on the design at least between his other appointments. Connor wanted the fish on his left shoulder, which Hank took no issues with, and they agreed on rough sizing and placement. Hank made Connor promise to contact the studio if there were any issues or changes to the tattoo that were unexpected, which he seemed happy to agree to. 

And just like that, they said their goodbyes and Connor was gone again. Hank felt like he'd been talking to the android for _hours_ , but a quick glance at the clock confirmed that their entire meeting had lasted no more than forty minutes, only slightly longer than a standard consultation. He barely had any time to think about the whirlwind experience, or question why Connor had captivated his attention so thoroughly, before his two o'clock appointment arrived mere moments after the android had walked out the door. Something to muse over later then, he concluded, greeting his next client. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor returns to the studio for his next appointment.

Connor had called a few days ahead of his appointment to inform Hank that the tattoo was healing as expected. Hank was already working on a client, so he'd passed the message on to his receptionist, who confirmed that their original appointment could still go ahead. Hank had pencilled them in for an early morning session, allowing some time to look at the design and make any necessary tweaks. Connor was confident he'd be happy with Hank's design either way; he trusted his judgement and his skill as an artist, especially following their previous meeting. It seemed evident that Hank was a man who truly cared about his craft, who cared deeply about creating beautiful art that his clients would enjoy. He'd only met him for a mere forty-two minutes, but Connor already felt like he knew him rather well. 

Of course, this was in part a result of the search he'd done on him prior to entering the studio. Henry Anderson, born September 6th 1985. Former Lieutenant at the DPD, the youngest in the district to make the title after a particularly prominent Red Ice bust. By all accounts, the man had been moving towards a promising career in law enforcement, and Connor wouldn't have been surprised to see him make the rank of Captain before long. But Hank had quit the force unexpectedly four years ago, instead choosing to start his own studio following a year-long stint apprenticing under another prominent artist in the city. 

Connor couldn't pretend he hadn't watched countless videos of Hank prior to his appointment; mostly archival news footage alongside a selection of suspect interviews from the DPD archive (Connor made a mental note to contact their tech department to alert them of his still _very_ much open access to their files. Connor hadn't worked for the DPD in over two months). In the footage he saw a serious, often stern man; professional and straight-talking. But he saw a kindness too; the man who would soften when speaking to children, who'd take the time to dig deeper when something just didn't sit right. It was clear that Hank had been a brilliant Lieutenant. So why had he quit? 

Tattooing seemed like a far cry from policing, this Connor could understand. During his brief tenure at the DPD he'd made few friends and even more enemies - mostly through no fault of his own, but on more than one occasion the intent had certainly been there. The DPD was far from the progressive department he'd hoped it to be, and while he often found himself wondering if all police departments were like this, he also spent plenty of time wondering if law enforcement was really for him. It was what he'd been built for, but was it what he _wanted_? Perhaps Hank had experienced similar doubts. 

Connor arrived fifteen minutes early to his appointment; he would have preferred earlier, but as his appointment was the first one of the day, he didn't want to hurry Hank through any preparations. Besides, he'd recently read that humans didn't always appreciate someone being _too_ early. So a sharp fifteen minutes early it was.

As he arrived at the reception he was surprised to be greeted by another android, who introduced himself as Jerry, an EM400 model, who apologised for his absence at his previous appointment, as he currently only worked part time. Jerry expressed a sincere enthusiasm about Connor's upcoming tattoo, and the pair chatted idly while Hank prepared the area for the work. Connor was both surprised and impressed that Hank had hired an android - Jerry explained that he'd been working at the studio for a few months, finding it different to his previous work in theme parks, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. It was clear he had nothing but positive things to say about his boss - someone who had hired him without judgement when times had been tough and most places weren't looking to employ androids. Connor continued to chat to Jerry as he filled in the consent forms, which the receptionist filed nearly in a folder before leading Connor into the workspace. 

Hank greeted Connor with a shake of the hand, instructing him to follow him once again into the consultation room. He arrived with a handful of rolled up papers, placing each one on the table before Connor, switching on a bright light to help illuminate them. 

"Let's see it then." Hank requested, and Connor rolled up his trouser leg to show the healing heart above his ankle. Hank nodded his approval, moving in closer to get a better look, mumbling to himself. "Looks good."

"As I said on the phone, I didn't have any discomfort," Connor confirmed. "You didn't tell me you had an android working here." 

"Hm?" Hank stopped looking at the tattoo for a moment, turning his gaze up to Connor quizzically. 

"Jerry, on reception." 

"Ah, yeah. What about 'em?" 

"I just assumed you'd mention it." Connor replied. "It's unusual to see businesses employing androids." 

"Well, Jerry didn't work here until after the Revolution," Hank started, moving back to the seat behind the desk, stretching his arms as he went. "He does a good job. Efficient worker. Can't complain." He paused for a moment. " _Should_ I have mentioned it?" 

Connor stared at him for a moment, before a small smile crept to his face. "No. No, I was...just _surprised_ , is all." Hank seemed happy enough with the response, nodding a gruff approval before pushing the designs forward for Connor to inspect.

"These are what I've come up with - if there's anything you want changed or tweaked I can obviously do that now. Lemme know what you think." 

"They're _beautiful_ , Hank." Connor gasped as he rose to his feet, leaning down to get a closer look at the designs, his fingers lightly tracing over the papers. He'd created three designs in total, each with a different composition and colour palette, a light splash of water flowing around each. The style almost resembled that of a watercolour painting, with loose but vibrant colours and thick, expressive line work. 

"I'm glad 'ya think so," the man mumbled, shifting in his seat. "Take your time looking at them, you need to think long and hard about what exactly it is you want." He rose from his seat, sparing a glance at Connor as he propped the door open. "I'm makin' a coffee, you want anything? Jerry's got some spare thirium juice packs in the fridge if you want one." 

"Ah, I'm okay, but thank you," Connor replied curtly. "Brought my own anyway," he tilted his head towards the bag he'd brought with him that lay by his feet. 

"Won't be long," Hank murmured as he walked out of the door, leaving Connor alone with the designs. 

Really, it would be a tough call, each one was beautiful in its own way. He picked each sheet of paper up one by one, holding the design in front of him to further inspect the detail. His scanners picked up details that Hank perhaps would not have considered; he could tell when Hank had pressed harder into the paper with the lead of the pencil, what percentage of water to paint he'd used in each colour splash, could see the fingerprints at the edge of the pages where Hank had held a hand to still the paper as he worked. To someone else these details may seem inconsequential, but Connor found them _charming_. Painfully human. A reminder of the care and detail taken in creating each piece. 

He found himself drawn to the middle design in particular. The piece showed the fish facing to the left, the red contrasting powerfully against the subtle cyan hues. He ran a finger across the smooth ridges of the watercolour paper, marvelling at how the design seemed to almost spring to life under his touch. 

"So, what are you thinking?" Hank asked as he re-entered the room, steaming coffee in hand, peering over Connor's shoulder as he inspected the designs. 

"I've decided on this middle one," Connor confirmed, pointing at the chosen piece. Hank nodded, a half-smile crossing his lips. 

"Good. That one's my favourite too."

Connor smiled as Hank led him back through to the studio, planting his still steaming coffee on a ledge just above the workspace. He'd barely had any time to properly immerse himself in the studio last time, and he'd been so distracted by the sounds and sensations that he'd hardly paid it any mind. So he took a moment to properly consider his surroundings. 

Each tattoo artist had their own corner of studio to work in, clearly decorated with their own personal effects and artwork they found appealing. Hank's space featured mostly traditional Japanese artwork, with thick brush strokes, bold colours and exaggerated features. On the two ledges above his workstation, alongside the coffee, he spotted a few personal effects; a small statue of a jade Buddha, an old worn mug with the DPD logo stacked with pens and pencils, and a wooden frame, featuring a photo of a child hugging a Saint Bernard dog. Scanning the image, Connor got a name - _Cole Anderson, age 9_. 

He was pulled out of his analysis by Hank's deep voice speaking to him, and he turned his attention back to the man, who stood before him, a few packaged ink well's bundled into his hands. 

"So, some good news - I did some digging and I found this stockist who makes ink _specifically_ for Android skin," he gives the colourful vials a little shake. "The good news is, as you've seen, the ink I'd normally use won't damage or hurt you. However, your body will likely start to break down the ink because it thinks it's a toxin. It means your tattoo will be more or less temporary, only lasting about a month or so." 

Connor nodded, glancing down at his now covered ankle - although of course, he could see through the fabric, taking another peek at the small heart. "Our bodies aren't used to ingesting anything, and for my primary directives I only ever needed to consume small quantities of any substances for testing purposes. It makes sense that our systems would start to break the matter down - although it _would_ be possible for me to overwrite that function." 

"Hmm, true, but this at least guarantees you won't have to do that. I won't pretend to understand the technical jumbo, but I, uh, brought these for you." He pulled some papers out of the workstation drawer, a breakdown of the ingredients in the ink and the processes involved in making the body accept the new substance without rejection. Hank looked almost sheepish as he handed the papers over, scratching at the back of his neck. "Look, I won't do anything until you've read those, I just want you to double check that nothing rings any alarm bells." 

"Of course," Connor replied, already scanning the paperwork. It was sweet that Hank had printed the information out for him, even sweeter that he'd gone to the trouble of looking into android-compatible inks. He ran a quick search and discovered the seller Hank had no doubt used, and the price to get these shipped in for their appointment had been a heavy premium. "I'll of course pay extra for the new inks-" 

"Nah, none of that." Hank interjected with a wave of his hand. "You're paying me for the work and that's it." Not one to meet this kind of thing without some resistance, Connor was ready to protest before Hank raised another hand in the air to silence him, instructing him to lay down on his front, arms crossed in front of him, asking if he thought the position felt comfortable enough to stay in for a few hours. Connor agreed, sitting up to take his shirt off. 

"I've got a cover here if you want-" 

"It's fine," the android replied without missing a beat. "I don't feel the cold in the same way a human would, nor do I have any hang ups about the physical form. This is perfectly fine." 

"Suit yourself," Hank shrugged, placing the transfer down on the surface of Connor's shoulder. He pulled over a mirror attached to the wall by a long metal extension, letting the android take a look at the placement of the design, which he was all too happy with. Connor confirmed he was happy with the inks Hank had purchased. And with that, the man started up the machine and the work began. 

Connor didn't feel physical pain in the human sense, but he did still _feel_ pain. However, he found the feeling of the needles on his skin almost soothing, the sensation no different to the occasional discomfort he'd feel when getting a routine appointment at a repair centre. The gentle hum of the machine and the rhythmic motions against his skin felt calming, in their own way. He wasn't sure if all tattoos felt like this, or if it was just because Hank had such a calming presence. 

"So, what, were you like, a cook before or something?" 

" _What?_ " Connor was pulled out of his head once again.

"You said some shit earlier about consuming small amounts of substances for work. Just assumed that meant you were a cook."

"Oh, no. Police." 

"You were a cop too?" Hank balked with disbelief. "Well, I'll be damned." 

"You were a police officer?" 

"Thought you would have figured that out already, to be honest." Hank chuckled.

"You'd be right,' Connor smiled against his folded arms. "Sorry, I was trying to be polite. Didn't want to intrude." 

"What else do you know about me, huh?" Hank asked, but his tone wasn't accusatory, merely curious. 

"A fair amount. Anything in the public record is fair game. I don't know why you left the force." 

"Suppose we've got time," Hank mused, taking a moment to wipe away excess ink from the skin before continuing. "It didn't suit me. I'd been doing it for _years_ , knew the job inside out, and as far as the department was concerned I was good at it."

"You _were_ good at it." Connor assured. 

"Hm. Maybe. I'd been considering leaving for a while, maybe years. I think when I first joined the Academy, I had all of these dreams of grandeur, same as any other kid my age who signed up. It seemed like an opportunity to do good and help people. I wasn't that good in school, never academic, so I didn't have a lot of options anyway. For a long time I convinced myself I could be the one good cop, you know? Change things up from the inside." 

Connor nodded from his position laying down on the table and Hank continued. "Soon enough I learned that one person can't change shit. That doesn't mean you should try, but just…. _I don't know_. The longer I stayed, the more I felt complicit, you know? This android stuff just seemed to further hammer the point home that I didn't agree with a lot of the shit the department thought was serving justice. But you know how it is - wife and kid to support, bills to pay." Connor glanced up at the portrait on the ledge and Hank gave a nod. "It all changed when I had the accident." 

"Accident?" Hank pulled the needle back for a moment, wiping down the skin again. Connor could feel the smooth latex of his gloved hands running along his skin. 

"My car slipped on a patch of ice. Cole was at his mother's, thank fuck, but a hunk of metal pierced through the back of the car. I remember, and this is the stupidest thing really-" he paused for a moment, putting down the machine on the workstation, "-I remember looking into the back of the car as I lay there, bleeding all over, and thinking, ' _if Cole had been with me he'd be dead'_. And I couldn't shake that. Even after I got pulled from the car, long after the surgery. I went back to work with a few stitches and not a lot to show for it, but I couldn't pull the thought from my mind. I could have died. My _kid_ could have died. The only reason I was in the fuckin' car that night was because I'd been working late again. Caroline had already moved out at this point, and we'd signed the divorce papers so the damage there was done, but, _fuck_ …" Hank leant back in his chair, letting out a low, stuttered breath. "I couldn't focus on my work. Jeff gave me some time off - you work with Jeff?"

"Jeffrey Fowler?" Connor nodded. 

"Good guy. Anyway, he gave me some time off and I couldn't get the thought out of my head that I was wasting my life in this job. I was fighting for a system I didn't agree with, and not to mention the fact that I was _so_ tired. It only occurred to me that the job was draining when I got out of the hospital and took the time off, and it was like it all hit me at once." 

"I can understand that a little myself." Connor replied.

"I bet. Anyway, I'd spent most of my time at home just painting, you know? I'd always been into art when I was a kid but I kind of fell out of it when I started working. And honestly, everything I did was absolute horseshit but it made me feel _calm_. For the first time in…I didn't know how long." 

Connor felt his chest tighten as he smiled. He doubted Hank's art had been 'horseshit', far from it, but now wasn't the time to argue that point. 

"So I looked into my finances, and thought, well, _fuck it_. My pension wasn't bad, so that wasn't gonna be an issue further down the line and I'd come into a bit of money after the accident from my insurance so I figured I may as well. Handed in my notice. Jeff didn't even try to talk me out of it, I think he must've known it was coming. Managed to get an apprenticeship under a guy the next town over, did that for just over a year before I was fully qualified. Then the pension money came in and I thought, hell, between that and the insurance money left over I may as well start my own place. So here we are." He gestured wildly around him at the studio - they were still the only ones in the place, asides from Jerry. "Any of that in your public record?"

"No." Connor replied with a shake of his head. "It's quite a story."

"Told ya it was long," Hank chuckled, leaning in closer as he continued to graze the needles across Connor's skin. 

"It's a good one, I think. I'm glad you're doing something that makes you happy."

"It is what it is," Hank murmured with a click of his teeth. "How about you then? What's your story?" 

"My story?" 

"Yeah. I mean, it sounds interesting enough, android in the DPD. Bet there's a good story there." 

"I'm not sure how interesting you'd find it."

"Try me."

Connor turned his head slightly to see Hank paused in his work, fixing him a curious stare, head tilted slightly. The android nodded, turning his head back away from Hank. He felt the needle at his skin again as he began to speak. 

"I was built as a one-of-a-kind investigative unit to tackle the ongoing Deviancy crisis. I was deployed to the DPD, whilst still reporting back to Cyberlife and I saw the duration of my service there whilst partnered with a detective looking primarily at Android crimes."

"Who were you partnered with?" 

"One Detective Reed."

" _Fuuuuck_. They made you team up with _that_ piece of shit?"

"Unfortunately so. You worked with him?"

Hank balked a laugh. "I don't know if 'worked with' is the best way to put it. We butted heads. 'Spose everyone did, with Reed."

"Then you'll be pleased to know I punched him."

"You _WHAT_?!" Hank howled, now doubled over in laughter, placing the machine down. "Lemme take a break for a minute, I _need_ to hear this." 

"Well, we hadn't exactly been getting along swimmingly," Connor started as he manoeuvred himself around to sit up and face Hank. "Gavin held fairly anti-android sentiments which made our working together….challenging. However, for most of our time as partners I wasn't Deviant, so I was hard pressed to do anything about it. Most people treated me with similar disdain, but Gavin was _particularly_ aggressive, so when I finally became Deviant and he happened to be in the way of some evidence I needed - I snapped." He shrugged his shoulders. 

"You decked him. _Right on._ " 

"It wasn't very mature of me." 

"Most good things in life aren't." Hank replied, stretching to stand, bracing himself with his hands on his thighs, before moving towards the kitchen. 

"I suppose you're right. Either way, it looks likely I won't be going back to police work anytime soon." 

"They fired you over that? That's _bullshit_ ," Hank scoffed as he powered on the coffee machine. "I did plenty worse when I was there." 

"Not exactly. Technically, my contract has ended and I cut all ties with Cyberlife pretty publicly…."

"Hang on-" Hank started, swivelling round and wagging a finger at Connor. "I saw you on the news! You were the one who led all of those androids out of the tower!" 

"That's me," Connor confirmed, waving his hands out in a mock bow. 

"Damn. And you said I wouldn't find your story interesting." Hank let out a low breath, leaning back against the cabinets as the coffee machine chugged away. "Pretty impressive."

"Thanks." Connor still found himself a little embarrassed by that part of his story. He wasn't ashamed of what he'd done, or regretful, but being thrust into the public eye as a Revolutionary wasn't something he'd ever prepared himself for. He was thrilled that Hank didn't call him out on it the moment he arrived at the studio. So much for his anonymity. 

Sensing the change in mood, Hank nodded to himself, turning away from Connor to stir the coffee in the mug. The sound of the door opening broke the silence and the muffled sound of Jerry greeting one of the other tattooists filled the room. Hank gave the man a quick wave before returning to Connor and the workstation, coffee in one hand and Thirium Pack in the other. 

He handed the pack to Connor. "I know you brought your own, but this one's nice and cold, so…"

"Thanks," He replied as he took the packet, smiling. Hank was so thoughtful. 

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry you had to go through all that." Hank met his gaze, a serious expression crossing his face. He moved a hand forward slowly, towards Connor's leg, before seeming to consider himself for a moment, and pulling it back. 

"Thank you, Hank. I really appreciate it." 

"S'no trouble." He replied, taking a big swig of the coffee before placing it down on the shelf. "We only need a few more minutes on your lineart, then we're good to start on the colour. You doing okay so far?" 

"All good," Connor confirmed, giving an enthusiastic thumbs up. 

"Great. Some people - well, some humans - tend to find colour a little more uncomfortable, so I'll give you a heads up before I change over." Connor nodded, twisting his torso around again and resting his upper body on folded arms, thirium pack still in hand for easy access. 

Hank was true to his word - a few more minutes and he declared the linework done, pulling the mirror back across to give Connor a glimpse of the work after he'd wiped away the excess ink. Connor marveled at the clean lines and detail - amazing, what the human mind could create. He often wished he could be creative in the ways humans were. After he voiced his approval, Hank finished his coffee in one gulp and switched out the machine and inks for the next step. 

"You know," he started, as he removed the grip from the machine to replace the needle, "I keep thinkin' 'bout what you said you did to Reed. I'd kill to have seen that."

Connor quirked his head back quizzically. "I could show you."

"You what now?" Hank furrowed his brow in confusion as the android turned back around, holding up the palm of his hand. A video projected in front of him, showing the events unfolding from Connor's viewpoint. Hank slowly placed the machine down, peering in closer as Detective Reed came into view. And when Connor's fist collided with his face, knocking him out cold, well, Hank couldn't hold back his deep-belly laughter. Connor seemed to find the humour in it too, chuckling lightly to himself before rewinding the footage back to play the moment his fist hit the man's face again, a few more times for good measure. And each time, Hank laughed and laughed, clutching at his stomach as the deep rumbles left his mouth, howling with his head tipped back. 

Finally getting a hold of himself, he leant forward, gripping at Connor's arm for stability as the last of his laughter bubbled out. "Should you even be showing me this?" 

"Probably not," Connor grinned conspiratorially. 

Hank smiled at him, something warm and genuine and it set Connor's thirium pump alight. 

The rest of the appointment went without incident - the other tattooists' first client arrived, and the previously quiet studio became a hub of rock music and idle chatter. Hank and Connor continued to converse as the work was done; the android was pleased that colour work didn't feel all that different to the linework. He explained the significance of the Dwarf Gourami to Hank - his first 'moment of humanity' as it were, was saving that fish. Something so simple and inconsequential, yet he did it anyway. It was a small part to play in a bigger puzzle that would eventually lead to him becoming deviant, and in a lot of ways, Connor felt he had a lot to thank for that fish. 

When the work was done a few hours later, Hank led Connor towards a long mirror on the other side of the studio, guiding him with solid hands to turn and look at the piece in the mirror. Connor couldn't help the smile that bloomed on his face. He felt almost as though the piece was moving, the colours darting across his skin, fluid and free. It made him feel…alive. 

When it was time to pay up, he once again offered to pay extra for the ink Hank had acquired. He once again declined, insisting he'd need it for future clients anyway. He only asked that Connor recommend his work to his friends, if he felt it were appropriate. Connor smiled and told him he would, of course. 

The goodbye at the reception desk felt awkward, a little stilted perhaps. Connor couldn't be sure if it was just him, so new was he to emotions, but it seemed as though something greater had passed between them, something unsaid. Perhaps it was their shared experiences, giving them something to bond over. Or maybe this was how all tattoo appointments went; a little given, a little shared. Whatever it was, Connor shook the man's hand with what he hoped was reverence, and he promised to return soon for his next piece. Hank's lopsided smile, showing a few wonky teeth, seemed to confirm he'd be pleased to see him when he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! A big thank you to everyone who's left me lovely feedback on this so far, whether on twitter or here, I really appreciate it! 
> 
> This one is a little long but I hope you don't mind. The end feels a little conclusion-y but I promise there's more to come, even if ao3 likes to mark this up as complete! I'm trying to update this weekly but I'm quite bad at keeping a routine with writing, so no promises there. 
> 
> As always, kudos, comments and subs are appreciated. ♥️


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor admires his new tattoo, and has a conversation with his tattooist about his next appointment.

Connor's finger hovered over the like button, trying to gauge the appropriate amount of time after posting to like an image. He'd received the notification of the post going live instantly, a dialogue box popping up in his peripheral. He switched to looking at the image on his handheld phone - he could see things much quicker in his mind, and like all androids he could take calls and browse online in the blink of an eye, but he'd picked up a physical model a while ago, an attempt to separate 'work and pleasure' as it were. It slowed his mind down when he got caught up in his own head, as well as giving him a way to empathise with humans. Connor wasn't totally sold on its effect yet, but Nines had recommended it, knowing how difficult Connor found it to 'switch off', and if anyone knew what Connor was really like, it was Nines. Who better to understand your psyche than your replacement unit? So he persisted. 

He left it a few minutes before eventually hitting the like button, scrolling back up to reread the description. The dwarf gourami - _his_ dwarf gourami - sprung from the screen, the quick snap Hank had taken at the end of the appointment capturing the vivid colours of the tattoo well (Hank had mumbled something about the wonders of new phone cameras. Connor had tried not to direct him too heavily on his camera work, but had made a lighting suggestion that Hank took him up on). 

_First time tattooing an android today. Thanks for the trust, Connor._

He smiled as he read the text, continuing to hover over the post to watch as the comments reeled in. Feedback was, of course, positive; praise came in for Hank's linework and use of colour, as well as for his 'bravery', something Connor felt the man would likely scoff at when reading. Hank didn't consider himself brave, or even innovative - just a man doing his job. It was one of the things Connor liked about him. It was nice not to be oggled at like an object for a change, to be spoken to like a _person_. Revolution or not, much hadn't changed. 

Placing the phone down on his bedside table, he sauntered out of bed towards the full length mirror, peeling his shirt from his shoulders and shifting his body around to take another glance at the new addition to his body. This was not the first time he'd stopped what he was doing to take another look at the tattoo - there was something about it that almost didn't feel real. The 'test' tattoo of a heart had been nice, of course, in its simplicity and cuteness, but this was something different. The dwarf gourami that swam against the current of his synth skin was permanently a part of him - a marvel, to Connor, who could change so much of his body so easily, and yet had so little autonomy over many of those choices. In a lot of ways, that had been one of the biggest motivations in getting a tattoo - the need to regain some semblance of control over his own body. To make a choice that was wholly his own. He glanced back at the tattoo, raising a tentative arm around his neck to allow his fingers to hover close to the design. The healing was going as expected, the only real change to his skin being a light tightness around the edges of the design. Satisfied, Connor pulled his shirt back on and returned to where he'd previously sat on the bed; it was not long before his fingers fumbled for the phone on the bedside table once again. 

His apartment was modest by most standards; a one bedroom place, 'studio' the application had called it, and as Connor had no need for most of the facilities that humans would need, he'd opted for somewhere small. He still used the shower, on occasion - he didn't _need_ it, not in the traditional sense, but he found the process centred him, made him feel loose and relaxed. The toilet went unused, but he supposed it would come in handy if he ever had a human guest over. He'd begun to experiment with cooking, so the small worktop in lieu of a full kitchen proved useful, as he hardly needed something big and elaborate. He didn't have any humans he could call friends _yet_ , but he considered his cooking practise a good place to start; after all, he wouldn't want to make friends and be unable to cook for them. He was nothing if not prepared for the future. 

Glancing back at Hank's post, more comments had poured in praising the quality of the work. Pausing for a moment as he clicked 'comment', he started to type, re-reading a few times before eventually hitting 'send'. 

_Thanks for the work Hank, I love it. Can't wait to book in again soon for the next piece._

Thirty seconds later, a notification popped up in his HUD. A private message. 

_AndersonTattoos: hey. didn't know you used this site._

_Connor-800: Not often. Just to fawn over tattoos :)_

Nines had taught him the importance of using smiley faces in messages. Humans couldn't always gauge tone from texts. 

_AndersonTattoos: good to know. how's the healing coming along?_

_Connor-800: Just a bit of skin tightness like you said, but otherwise okay. No discomfort, so that's good._

_AndersonTattoos: any of the ink seeping out?_

_Connor-800: Nope :)_

_AndersonTattoos: that's good. sounds like it's healing well :)_

Connor grinned at the screen, fingers quivering slightly as his fingers passed across the screen. Was Hank really smiling, when he sent that message? Connor hoped so. 

_Connor-800: How booked up are you for the rest of the month?_

_AndersonTattoos: looking to come back in for another one already?_

He waited for a moment, considering his response. Feeling bold, he hit send. 

_Connor-800: Maybe. Maybe I just wanted to see you again._

A few minutes passed before the phone pinged again. 

_AndersonTattoos: now that can't be right. you're just coming in for our world-class thirium pouches._

_Connor-800: You've got me there._

_AndersonTattoos: i'm booked up until the fourteenth. all clear after that._

_Connor-800: Could we pencil in some time for the fifteenth? Just a consultation to discuss a design. Do I need to call the shop to book that in?_

_AndersonTattoos: nah you can do that through me, it's okay. what you thinking?_

_Connor-800: That's what I need your help with. I have a vague idea of a feeling, or a concept, but no way to visualise it._

_AndersonTattoos: colour me intrigued. are you able to come in at 1 on the fifteenth?_

_Connor-800: 1pm would be perfect. Thanks Hank :)_

_AndersonTattoos: no problem connor. it's late, shouldn't you be sleeping? do androids sleep?_

Connor chuckled, leaning back against the headboard of the bed as he typed. He wasn't entirely sure how Nines had the patience for writing messages out by hand when it could be done so much quicker in his head. He supposed it made sense when talking to a human - Hank couldn't send his replies across by mind, after all. He didn't want to overwhelm him. Or come across as too eager. He remembered Nines talking to him about that, explaining that humans sometimes found a quickness to respond as a sign of over-excitement, and not always in a positive way. Connor still didn't totally understand how Nines of all people had come to these conclusions. Connor had always considered himself to be the more approachable of the pair. 

_Connor-800: Not exactly, we do go into stasis, although less regularly than humans._

_AndersonTattoos: well, I normally recommend my clients get a good night's sleep after getting something done. it may not be essential for androids but I still think you should turn in soon._

_Connor-800: Could say the same for you. Humans need their sleep more than androids do :)_

_AndersonTattoos: and you've got me there. night connor._

_Connor-800: Goodnight, Hank._

~ 

Hank stared at the screen for a few minutes, scrolling back up and down the conversation to re-read everything. Maybe he shouldn't have messaged Connor. Probably not that late at night at least. Did androids care about stuff like manners? Was it considered rude to private message a client after one appointment? Hank did pride himself on client-care, and hell, the kid had commented on his post first, but it had taken a weird turn in the middle that he wasn't totally prepared for. He had, of course, deflected - that's what he did best, after all. 

Still, he couldn't deny the warm buzz that filled his stomach when Connor had told him he wanted to see him again - even if he was only teasing him. Then again, he couldn't even be certain he _was_ teasing. Connor certainly had a sense of humour, that much was true, but he had an earnestness and directness to his approach that Hank found incredibly charming, if he was being completely honest with himself. He couldn't help but think about the way Connor had smiled at him so sweetly when he unveiled the completed tattoo, the way he shook his hand so firmly when they parted ways, the quick sidewards glance he gave him as he exited the shop, as though trying to get a final look at him. 

Connor was right, he should go to bed. Clearly the late night was messing with his head. He turned his phone off and hunkered down, drifting off to thoughts of an android he barely knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is kind of short - it's been a bit of an iffy week and I've not really had the drive to create anything. This was going to go a little differently, but as the next chapter is likely to be another long one I figured I'd cut things off here for now. 
> 
> Thank you for your support on the previous chapters, it really means a lot! As always, kudos, comments and subs etc feed my souls and lift my spirits so I really appreciate your thoughts. Until next time 👋


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor make plans for the next piece, and Hank has some honest conversations with Jerry.

Connor arrived promptly for his 10am consultation, by which point Hank had already set up the office with a chilled thirium pack ready and waiting on the desk for his client. Hank himself had already gulped down two black coffees in quick succession, which garnered him a raised eyebrow from Jerry, although he chose not to comment on it. Connor's lip quirked up into a warm smile at the sight of the drink and he thanked Hank as he took a seat across from him. 

"So, you mentioned a little bit when we talked before about this being more to do with feelings than a physical thing, right?" 

"That's right," the android replied curtly, placing his hands in his lap. "I…want to get something related to my deviancy. I've had some...well, some complicated feelings regarding my freedom as an android, in part thanks to my rigourous Cyberlife programming. My role in the revolution itself was fairly minor compared to most." 

"Connor, I don't believe that for a second," Hank protested. "I saw you on the news."

Hank didn't miss the spark that lit in Connor's eyes, but it was gone again before he could think too much about it. 

"Maybe so, but before I reached that point I was in a far more antagonistic role. I was referred to as _'The Deviant Hunter'_ by many of my peers, which wasn't unwarranted." 

"Jesus, Connor." 

"Well, it's what I was. It's not who I am, but it _was_ me, for a long time. In a lot of ways, I was built to be 'deviant-proof', so when I did turn it was a difficult journey. I can't say it's a journey I'm at the end of, even now, but I'm doing what I can." He paused for a moment, glancing up at Hank with a steely expression. "I'm not looking for sympathy here, Hank, I just think the context is possibly important to the tattoo." Hank nodded, considered, silently willing him to continue. 

"I'd like to get something that symbolises the journey I've been on. But I don't know how to conceptualise that into a physical design. I do know that I want to avoid any obvious symbols in relation to Deviancy or Cyberlife." 

Hank understood what he meant - no blue triangles or anything connected to Jericho. He could understand that well enough. 

"If possible, I'd like it if the tattoos meaning wasn't clear to anyone but us. I want this to be something for me, and me alone. Perhaps to anyone else it can just look like a nice tattoo, but I'd like the meaning to be private."

Hank was beginning to understand why Connor wanted the consultation, and honestly, this was the kind of thing consultations were for. People who didn't work in creative fields often didn't know how to translate feelings into designs, and if Hank was proud of anything, he was proud of his ability to translate those ideas into paper. That being said, Connor's journey was a unique one that he couldn't fully understand in all of its complexities. He could never and would never be an android, and while he sympathised fully with his experiences, he didn't want to project his own insecurities or interpretations onto the piece. This had to be something led by Connor. 

"Okay. So normally, I'd go away, draw up some pieces based on what you've told me, and we'd make a decision on the day. But uh, I think this is a little more complex and conceptual than the stuff I'd normally work on - usually when people say they don't know what they want, they'd still give me some physical ideas, like a bird or a colour scheme or something. And it's fine that you haven't given me those, but I think we can potentially work on a few do's and don't's today, I'll go away and work on this a bit, and then we can come back and discuss again one more time before we work on the piece. Does that work for you?"

"Absolutely."

"Great." Hank opened the notepad in front of him, scrawling a crude line down the centre of the page and writing _'yes'_ and _'no'_ at the top of each column. "You've already mentioned you want to avoid any existing symbols relating to Cyberlife or Jericho, so that's a good start," he wrote both words in the _'no'_ column. "It would be good to clarify a few more specifics - we don't have to make any decisions today, but it'll help give me some ideas and to steer me in the right direction."

"Okay." Connor nodded, shifting forward slightly in his seat. 

"I assume you're gonna wanna avoid any obvious visual metaphors like birds in cages or shit like that as they're quite easy to interpret."

The corner of the androids lip quirked up a little. "Yes please." 

"Mhm, okay," Hank scrawled a few more words down onto the paper. "How do you feel about text?" 

"Hmm," Connor paused for a moment, considering it. "I don't have anything in mind, but I'm not necessarily against it." 

"Okay then," Hank flipped the notepad open and scribbled a 'maybe' on the opposite page, followed by 'text'. "Animals?" 

"Fine."

"Flowers, or any kind of plants?" 

"They work." 

"Got it." 

They continued on like this for around fifteen minutes, eliminating some of the more obvious concepts and going through colour schemes. Hank was starting to form a few loose ideas in his mind already, feeling his confidence grow the more he wrote down. They agreed to meet again in five days when Hank had worked on some of the concepts, and before long the consultation had ended and Connor was already out of the door. Hank watched him go, leaning a propped up arm on the reception desk, head resting on his hand. 

Jerry fixed him an amused stare from the other end of the table as he mused over the days appointments in the log book. Hank caught his gaze with a sidewards glance, scrunching his brows. 

"What?" 

"Nothing," Jerry replied, not looking up from the book as he flicked through it. "Since when do you book in _two_ consultations ahead of an appointment?" 

"Since _now_." Hank replied gruffly, rising to stretch. "It's gonna be a complicated piece." 

"I'm sure it is." The android drawled with amusement. "Coffee?" 

"Read my fuckin' mind." Hank grinned as the receptionist smiled knowingly, heading over to the kitchenette. 

Yeah, so Hank didn't normally do two consultations, so what? Whatever Jerry was implying, it wasn't it. He just wanted to make sure he did right by Connor. The things he'd gone through, the experiences he'd faced...the guy deserved to have the best work possible. He may only be a tattooist, his job might not have as much impact on people's lives the way his previous work did (for better or worse) but this was _important_. 

So maybe he was excited to see Connor again, so what? He was allowed to get on with a client. It wouldn't be the first time he'd built a rapport with a returning customer. Well, maybe he felt like there was some kind of spark between them, and maybe that made him curious, but that was inconsequential. _Completely_ unrelated. Jerry handed him a mug of coffee and he took a seat at his station, contemplating absolutely nothing. 

~ 

Five days later, as agreed, Connor returned to the studio to look through Hank's designs. Connor had decided that messaging Hank ahead of their appointment to let him know how much he looked forward to it would be crossing some boundaries, so, tempted as he was, he was silent for three days. Besides, he didn't want Hank to interpret his eagerness as pestering for a look at the designs ahead of time. 

Once again they returned to the consultation room and again, Hank offered up three designs. This time, the tattooist stayed in the room with him, coffee in hand, almost pacing around Connor as he picked each sheet up, one by one, to inspect. Was he nervous? His elevated pulse and slight fidget seemed to indicate so. 

Connor paused over the third design, considering it for a moment before picking it up to get a better look. 

"Hank. Tell me about this piece." 

Hank moved in closer, standing just behind Connor where he sat. He placed the now empty mug down on the table and leaned in, pointing at the design. It was a floral arrangement, a handful of different flowers pulled together in a small bouquet with a thin blue ribbon. The colours were understated, the flowers themselves far from a conventional floral tattoo design, but they were undeniably beautiful. The linework was more delicate than Hank's usual work, the loose illustrative style retaining the look of a pencil drawing with a touch of watercolour for colour and definition. 

"So, I did some reading on flowers," he pointed at the purple, round flowers, "Allium, for strength." He let his fingers glide across the paper to the larger red flowers, "Amaryllis, for pride. Gladiolus for remembrance. And Thyme - for courage." He took a step back, moving his hand away from the paper as he went. "You seemed to show a preference to the colour blue, so I went with that for the ribbon, but obviously we can change that if you'd prefer something else." 

A moment passed in silence, and Connor remained motionless, the design still in his hand. Hank moved closer again, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you okay?" 

Connor twisted in the chair to meet Hank's concerned gaze, an expression of sheer joy and reverence in his eyes. "Hank, I...don't know what to say. In all of my pre-constructions, I never could have pictured something this beautiful." 

In that moment, Hank couldn't suppress the rosy tint that coloured his cheeks. "That's...that's good." 

"I _mean_ it." He raised a hand, placing it gently over Hank's, still resting on his shoulder. "You've somehow captured the things I couldn't put words to. It's like you pulled the thought from deep inside me and put it to paper." 

"Well, you explained it pretty well," Hank started sheepishly, hand completely still under Connor's. He could feel the warmth of his skin - skin that barely felt any different to that of a humans. Somehow, that made the heat rise to his cheeks all over again. "But, uh, I'm glad you like it." 

"I _love_ it." Connor grinned in earnest, squeezing Hank's hand enthusiastically before, seeming to catch himself, he lowered it. "When can I get booked in?" 

"Well, yeah, lemme just take a look here," Hank stuttered, moving back to his desk and nearly dropped his diary as he opened it, muttering half-assed apologies for his clumsiness. "Shit, I'm pretty booked up for the rest of the month." 

He caught the disappointment in Connor's face, there and gone in a flash, as though he realised how obvious his expression had been. How often did Connor have to school his expressions from others before the Revolution? Hank felt guilt and disappointment pool in his stomach. 

"Hey, look, I'm sure we can work something out. Would you be willing to come in after hours?"

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, the shop closes at 7. So the other artists wouldn't be around, Jerry wouldn't be working, it'd just be you and me, and we'd probably have to split it across two sessions so we don't work completely through the night. But I could do tomorrow evening." He paused. "Only if you're comfortable with that."

"I trust you." Connor said so plainly and simply that Hank had no doubts that he was telling the truth. 

"So where did you want to put the design?" 

"I was thinking here," the android replied, laying a hand across his chest, where a human heart would be on anyone else. "I have a Thirium pump rather than a heart, but the sentiment still counts, I think." 

"Hmm. Will that cause any issues? I mean, if you ever need a replacement pump?" 

"It shouldn't be, no." Connor replied. "Can I borrow a pen?" 

"Uh, sure." Hank handed him a marker from his pen pot. "Why?" 

Connor didn't explain, and instead began to unbutton his shirt, revealing his chest. Hank had seen Connor topless before, but the sight still gave him heart palpitations. He popped the lid off the pen, drawing a simple cross with perfect lines on his skin. Placing the lid back on the pen and returning it to the pot, he hovered his fingers across the area he'd marked and a panel slid open, revealing a small beating vial, a soft blue glow emitting from it. Connor glanced up to Hank, confirming that he'd seen, before waving his fingers as the panel closed. The cross was as perfect as it was before, not a smudge or any distortion. Connor raised a questioning eyebrow at Hank. 

He was silent for a moment, narrowing his eyes at the cross on his chest before leaning back and shrugging his shoulders. "I mean, you could have just explained that." 

Connor laughed at that, a hearty, soulful thing and damn if it didn't make a big, stupid grin spread right across Hank's face. 

After discussing a few more of the finer details they agreed that Connor would come in at 7pm the following day after Hank's last appointment. He led him back to reception where he signed the usual disclaimers (a handful of which Hank had printed ready for any other potential android customers) before saying his goodbyes. The whole time, Jerry eyed him with curiosity but said nothing. That was, until Connor left. 

"Now you're taking bookings out of hours?" Jerry asked in disbelief, a knowing grin plastered across his face. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am." Hank folded his arms across his chest in defiance. 

"Do you bend your own rules for anyone now, or just him?"

" _Jerry_." Hank warned. 

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing," he shrugged. "Merely an observation." 

"Observe this," Hank threw him a middle finger, and the android just laughed, throwing his head back before returning the gesture. They had an easy-going relationship that they'd settled into quickly; Jerry had been designed to be outgoing but Hank had learned pretty quickly that teasing was just as much a part of his personality. 

"You _do_ like him though, right?" 

Hank stopped laughing abruptly and leaned back against the edge of the reception desk with a resigned sigh. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I do." 

"So, are you going to ask him out?" 

" _Hell no_!" Hank barked, a nervous laugh slipping out as he gave him a mortified stare. Jerry, unphased, just stared back at him, eyebrow raised. "It'd be unprofessional." He muttered unconvincingly. 

"Is that the only reason?"

"Alright," Hank replied, rolling his eyes. "Out with it."

"Well, I assume there's more to it than just that," Jerry remarked with another shrug of his shoulders. "I don't know what kind of personal anxieties you have around relationships, whether it's a byproduct of your divorce or some kind of separate issue." 

"What are you now, my therapist?" Hank scoffed. 

"It doesn't take an android to work this stuff out, Hank." 

"Alright, so what's your point?" 

"My point is that I haven't known you for long, but during that time you've been nothing but kind. You're a good man, with a good heart. It's clear Connor sees that too." 

Hank's face softened as he looked across at his colleague. "That's...well, that's kind of sweet, Jerry."

"You'll be pleased to know I'm not just sarcasm and a pretty face," Jerry smiled sweetly. "But I mean it. If you get the opportunity, you should ask him out." 

"Ehh...well, I'll think about it." 

"I hope you do." Jerry said warmly, patting Hank on the back as he returned to the tattoo studio to prepare one of the workspaces for the next appointment. 

Yeah, Hank thought. He'd think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday everybody! Against all odds, I'm managing to get this out weekly - I'm not sure how long this will last but I'm pleased with myself nonetheless. 
> 
> Thank you for reading as always, I always appreciate your kudos and comments! ♥️


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is nervous about his upcoming appointment with Hank, so calls his brother Nines for some advice.

Surely it didn't take this long to plan an outfit, certainly not for an evening of being poked and prodded with needles. Yet, here Connor was, stood in front of the mirror in his modest apartment, wondering what on earth he should wear to his appointment with Hank in two hours time. 

Honestly, it _shouldn't matter_ , Connor knew that. He was sure Hank would want him to wear something comfortable and practical, something he could sit in for an extended session without any discomfort. Being an android, these things didn't impact him - clothes felt the same, regardless of the texture or fit; he could _feel_ the difference in the back of his mind but it didn't have any positive or negative effects on his levels of comfort. The only real bonus in wearing something more relaxed was that Hank wouldn't feel any sense of second hand discomfort on his behalf. Humans were strange about things like that. Wear layers on a sweltering hot day and someone else will tell you how uncomfortable it makes them feel. 

So Connor wanted to at least _look_ comfortable, even if ultimately, it didn't matter. No, what mattered to him was looking _good_. And he didn't know what _good_ meant to Hank, or to _him_ for that matter. Connor hadn't developed what anyone would consider a 'fashion sense', he embraced the simplicity of a button down shirt and black trousers and that was fine for him most of the time. He mixed it up on occasion with the odd pop of colour in the form of a tie or a shirt in some kind of pastel shade (Nines had once told him that wearing the same outfit repeatedly looked like 'a uniform', and that made humans uncomfortable) but he knew what he liked and he stuck with it. It wasn't very exciting he supposed, but it was fit to purpose. 

Connor did most things by the book. Which is why his tattoos were such an exciting development. It represented a rare act of rebellion - against who, he couldn't say. Society? Cyberlife? Himself? Whatever the reason, it felt like an opportunity to shed his skin and start anew. Clothes may not appeal to him all that much, but the concept of a permanent adjustment to his physical form seemed thrilling. Maybe to many it was a tiny rebellion, but to Connor it meant the world. 

In a lot of ways, the long sleeved shirts exemplified everything Connor liked about his tattoos - the privacy, the personal importance of them, the element of surprise they might provide someone were he to ever show them to someone else in a moment of intimacy. Perhaps someone would make an assumption about him based on how he dressed, how he carried himself, but he doubted it would fully represent him as a colourful, unique whole. And that was fine, in many ways. He liked knowing that his tattoos wouldn't be visible to most, that he could keep them hidden and show them on his terms. Like a secret only meant for him and those he chose to keep close. 

He took another glance at the mirror, scowling slightly as he looked himself up and down. Where Hank was all bulk and strength, Connor was slim and rake-like. A straight line, up and down - plain hair, plain face. Nothing exceptional. Perhaps on someone else Connor would find these features charming, but on him they seemed plain, unremarkable. He supposed this was how humans felt when they were self-conscious. Connor didn't think he was ugly, or unappealing, he didn't _hate_ how he looked, but he didn't like it either. Like every other part of him, it just reminded him that he had no choice in the matter.

But _Hank_ ….with his broad form and his curves, the lines on his skin from age, his large, gentle hands and piercing eyes - Hank made an impression just from his appearance alone. And not just that - Hank looked like a man who had lived his life. All of his choices, all of his experiences, were reflected in how he looked and how he carried himself. But Connor? Well, Connor was a blank slate. 

Hank wasn't afraid to wear whatever the hell he wanted - where the rest of his colleagues donned black band shirts and ripped skinny jeans, Hank boasted loud, patterned shirts with open collars, simple jeans and aged pumps. Appearance simultaneously did and didn't matter to him - he clearly made an effort, but didn't care what anyone else said he should wear. Connor couldn't help but admire that about him, along with so many other things. 

Connor sighed. He was getting nowhere. He closed his eyes, LED flickering for a moment, and reached out. 

Nines voice, slightly deeper than his, filled his audio processors. 

"I notice you're not calling me from the phone I gave you." His tone was firm, but not unkind. 

"I know, I just…needed to talk to you quickly." 

"Is everything alright?" 

"Yes, I just wanted some opinions on some outfits."

There was a palpable silence for a moment before Nines responded. 

"You wanted my _opinion_. On some _outfits_." He repeated Connor's words back with a hint of amusement. 

Sometimes, Connor wished that Nines wasn't dripping with sarcasm in everything he said. He loved his brother, of course he did, but today he just didn't have the energy for the back and forth of it. He let out a deep breath. 

"I've got another appointment with Hank tonight."

"It's an appointment. Just wear whatever you feel is most comfortable looking." 

"I know, I just felt as though I should…. _you know_ …." He paused, rolling his eyes before he said the words, "... _look nice_." 

"Is it a date?" Nines inquired with interest. 

"Well, no, but…"

"Then what's the problem? I can sense you're getting worked up about this and I don't think there's any need to." His voice softened. "You don't have to change how you dress to impress him, you know." 

"I know that," Connor sighed, "I just want to look good. Make an impression." 

"I understand. It's not a date, so you don't want to dress like you're going out, but maybe dress a little less conservatively to how you usually do. Unbutton your collar, roll up your sleeves, something like that. You don't have to change your entire look."

"That's actually not a bad idea, Nines." Connor perked up, beginning to unbutton the top two buttons of his shirt whilst inspecting himself in the mirror. "How do you always know what to suggest?"

"I just do," he purred down the other end of the line with pride. "Nothing wrong with giving him a little taste of what he can have if he asks you out."

"Nines!" Connor scolded, a blush rising to his cheeks. "I never said I was expecting him to ask me out after this appointment."

"It was _heavily_ implied." The other android drawled.

"Thanks Nines, I appreciate it. How are you, anyway?"

It was in this moment that Connor heard the sound of light chatter in the background, the clinking of cutlery and hushed conversations, music playing in the distance. 

"I actually can't really chat right now, Connor, I'm on a date." 

"You're on a _date_?" Connor gawked. "I'm sorry, I didn't kno- _wait_ , who with? Do I know them?" There was silence on the other end of the line. "Is it someone from work?" 

"I don't think I should answer that question," Nines replied simply. 

"Oh god. _No_. Please tell me you're joking." 

He could almost hear his brother shrug from the other end of the line. "I said I shouldn't answer that question." 

"Nines, I don't...I just… _why_?" He couldn't help but throw his hands up in the air as he paced away from the mirror, moving to sit perched on the end of his bed. 

"He's good looking. We get on well enough. We've hooked up a couple of times already, so I know things are good from _that_ side of things…." 

Connor threw his head in his hands with exasperation. "You've hooked up already?! I just...I don't have any words, Nines." 

"Good," the other android replied curtly. "I should go, anyway. He has plenty of words for you, it seems."

"I bet he does," Connor groaned. 

"Asked me to tell you to _'go phuck yourself, you plastic prick'_. I'm sure he means that in jest." 

"I'm almost certain he doesn't." 

"Well, I'd better get back to it. He's bitching that I've been ignoring him to talk to you in the middle of a date. He thinks that's rude." Nines scoffed. 

"I hate to agree with him, but it _kind_ of is."

"Connor, need I remind you that _you_ called _me_." 

"You didn't have to answer," Connor retorted petulantly. "Please go back to your date. I appreciate your advice, Nines, even if I have some serious concerns about your taste in men." 

"It's noted." Nines replied with a sigh. "Goodnight, Connor." 

"Goodnight, Nines." He let out a shaky breath, and disconnected the conversation. As much as his brother seemed to have everything figured out, it seemed there were still some things Connor just could not understand about him. He probably never would. 

_Okay_ , he thought to himself. He pulled one of his more adventurous shirts from his closet, a light pink number that suited an open collar look, and paired it with some fitted black trousers and some black shoes which were pointed at the toe. He rolled up his sleeves to just below the elbow and moved closer to the mirror, taking a look at his slicked back hair, before ruffling it lightly with one hand, letting some of the curls fall loose across his forehead. 

He wondered if there was some kind of gift he could bring Hank - he knew, he _knew_ it wasn't a date, but Hank had been so incredibly thoughtful and accommodating so far, he wanted to further express his gratitude somehow. He retreated back to the bed, sitting on the edge before throwing himself back, arms splayed about him. He closed his eyes, and began searching for flower stores that offered express delivery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up y'all, it's me, posting 3 days ahead of schedule! This one's a little shorter again and I've had a weirdly productive week so I figured I'd best ride this storm while it lasts and post this now so I can get cracking on the next chapter. 
> 
> I wasn't originally planning on having some background Reed900 in here, but I just can't resist writing Nines as the chaotic, disaster sibling, and I needed something to kind of give him a bit of a irresponsible streak against Connor's perception of him, so...*gestures at Gavin off-screen* 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading - your kudos, subs and comments mean the world to me and I very much appreciate them! ♥️


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor visits Hank one evening for his first session on the floral piece.

"Dianthus. For gratitude."

Hank wasn't used to being greeted with gifts from his clients - and certainly not flowers. He supposed it made sense, in a way; Connor was grateful that he'd agreed to spend the next few evenings tattooing him when he should be at home resting, vegging out in front of the TV. Most clients didn't bring him _flowers_ though, but he supposed Connor wasn't _like_ his other clients. It was an incredibly sweet gesture, so very _Connor_ \- earnest, polite, thoughtful. 

"You shouldn't have," Hank eventually settled on as a reply, taking the small bundle of flowers wrapped neatly in a thin silver ribbon in his hands. "No-one's ever bought me flowers before."

"They should have," Connor remarked, and Hank couldn't help but smile at that. Such a _Connor_ thing to say. 

They were the only ones left in the studio, save for Jerry who was wrapping up the last few tasks for the day, cashing up the till and making sure everything was ready and prepared for the following day. He hummed a polite hello to Connor as he entered, but seemed content enough to continue working in the background without involving himself in their conversation. Hank was surprised that he didn't get a look from him when Connor appeared with flowers, but he supposed his discomfort around the subject of Connor when they last spoke had given his receptionist reason to pull back the teasing a little. Hank was grateful for that at least - he didn't mind it, but tonight he was happy to just bask in the warm glow that was Connor. 

They got to work quickly, and Jerry was out of the door by the time Hank had placed the stencil on Connor's chest, the open shirt billowing either side of him to reveal the milky smooth chest Hank had seen once before. Now that he had more than a moment to contemplate Connor's form, he was somewhat surprised to spot the odd freckle on his skin - someone at Cyberlife had a real attention to detail, that much was clear. Connor confirmed he was happy with the final design and it's placement, and with that, he got to work. The empty studio was much quieter in the evening - Hank loved his colleagues, but there was something immensely satisfying about listening to music other than metal for a change. Hank _loved_ metal - the heavier the better - but sometimes he needed to mix it up. Tonight, he'd opted for jazz, the combination of the smooth sax against the buzz of the machine working well to ease his anxiety. 

They fell into their easy chatter as they always did, Hank's nerves floating away into nothingness. They talked at length about Connor's career - he'd been built as an investigative unit initially, but upon reflection, Connor didn't feel that law enforcement was right for him in the long term. He'd grappled with it for a time - he'd been built with it in mind, after all - but Connor was done with it. "All of the violence and fighting that came with it….I couldn't do it anymore, Hank." he'd said softly, as though sharing a secret. "I need to feel like I'm doing something good for a change."

"You have any ideas?"

"Nothing concrete," the android mused. "I've been approached by a number of agencies - all private, of course - about freelance work. I always hear them out, but it's always the same - investigation, interrogation, combat of some kind…" 

"More of the same shit, sounds like."

"Exactly. I'm qualified in plenty of other fields - but that's all anyone sees. Don't get me wrong, it's nice to be thought of, but it isn't me. Not anymore." 

Hank briefly considered suggesting Connor pursue a career in modelling, before deciding against it. God, he was a pretty fucking picture - rolling up in that shirt and those fitted pants with the loose curls of his hair falling softly against his forehead. He'd clearly been built to be 'pretty' and as much as Hank wanted to tell him as such, Connor was clearly sick of being objectified one way or another. 

"You working now or just cruisin'?" Hank asked instead. 

"Nothing at the moment. I was lucky enough to get a payout from the DPD following the revolution - a lot of legislation is being brought in to ensure androids are paid for their labour going forward, and I assume someone felt I ought to be compensated for my prior work. I suppose it could be considered hush money, I was hardly treated well during my tenure...but I have no interest in pursuing a court case over gross misconduct. It at least means I have the funds to find my way for a while; I've got an apartment on the West side of town, I don't need food, so I've got some disposable income for things like this," He gestured at his chest as Hank nodded, not looking up from his work. "So I've got some time to figure things out."

"I did wanna ask that, actually…" Hank started, leaning up slightly and casting Connor a quick glance as he spoke. "Why tattoos?"

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, seems like an unusual way to spend your money, I guess," Hank started, returning his gaze to the stencil as he worked the lines into Connor's unflinching skin. "I dunno, I guess most people when they come into a bit of money buy a new outfit or something." 

"Clothing is temporary," Connor replied matter-of-factly, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling. "Perhaps in a small way it's a rebellion." 

"I guess that's why most people get tattoos." Hank huffed in lieu of a laugh. 

"True, but the artistry was something I was always fascinated with. However, the rebellious element can't be understated. For many androids, the struggle for autonomy is ongoing; I was designed and built specifically with a sole purpose in mind. My voice and appearance were designed to work harmoniously alongside humans. Myself and many others don't get a choice in how we look. We can make some modifications of course, I can change my hair colour or style in some ways. But even if I make those changes, they're things my creator has still _allowed_ me to change. They serve a purpose - and that purpose was never to benefit me in any way."

Hank paused for a moment to consider Connor's words, but remained silent, listening intently. 

"Tattoos are such a unique, personal experience. Visually, as well as in their essence - I can choose the artist, the style, the colours, the concept...the possibilities are endless. By getting a tattoo, I can distinguish myself from every other unit who looks like me. It's a mark of uniqueness I wouldn't otherwise be able to obtain. It's something my creators would never consider in my design. Therefore, it's a decision wholly made by me, and me alone."

Connor seemed lost in thought for a moment, as though considering how much to share, before he spoke again. "I always worry that my decisions _always_ come back to Cyberlife - even if I feel autonomy, was I just programmed to feel that way? But with something like this, it doesn't have an end goal that could benefit them in any way - _only_ me. It feels like one of the first wholly independent decisions I've made." 

Hank is silent for a moment, letting Connor's words linger in the air before he let out a shaky 'damn'. 

"I'm sorry if that was a lot," Connor replied in earnest. "I rarely get to talk about these sorts of things." 

"Don't apologise Con, you talk about whatever the hell you want," Connor involuntarily balked at the nickname, his thirium pump tightening in his chest. "What I mean is - _fuck_ those guys for ever making you feel that way."

"I...thank you, Hank."

"I _mean_ it," the man reiterated, looking up at Connor with a firm, unwavering stare for a brief moment. "And for what it's worth, I don't think it matters whether or not your thoughts are wholly independent. Whether Cyberlife 'programmed' you that way or not. Deviancy is re-programming, right?" Connor nodded. "So that affects your whole personality and way of being. Sure, maybe they programmed you to be a certain way to begin with but you're free now - the decisions are all yours. Humans are led by biology; there are things we do because we've been brought up that way, or we've evolved that way over time. You could say the same about you - don't think of it as Cyberlife's programming, think of it as things you do as part of your biology. And anything outside of the necessities is all you."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," the android mused quietly, "but it makes sense." 

"Everything doesn't have to make sense, Connor," Hank countered with a shrug. "Sometimes things just are." 

"I suppose you're right." Connor acknowledged with a smile, leaning back against the table as Hank continued his work. 

They continued their idle chatter as the hours passed, and soon enough it was 10.30pm - Connor alerted Hank, who glanced up at the clock with a huff before mumbling about finishing a section off. 

"Okay, so, lineart is done," Hank announced confidently as he leaned back in his seat, returning the machine to the table. "We'll have to work on the colour another day, not much use in starting it this late." 

"Thank you, Hank." Connor replied, sitting up slightly from his place on the recliner. 

"You wanna see?" 

Connor nodded, as Hank led him across to the full-length mirror on the other side of the studio. He guided him there with a hand resting just above the small of his back - the skin didn't make contact, but he could feel the hand hovering and the potential sent a shiver up his spine. 

They both stood in front of the mirror, Hank just behind him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. He began talking through the piece, explaining the choices in linework and how the colours would be applied on their next appointment, pointing at the different areas of Connor's chest in the mirror. Connor was, of course, already in love with the design; a beautiful adaptation of Hank's hand-drawn piece - somehow it seemed even more alive against his skin. There was a brief moment, when Connor chanced a look across the mirror and caught Hank's gaze - they held it, for just a moment, expressions a tinge surprised, before Hank quickly pulled his eyes away, patting Connor on the shoulder and retreating across to the other side of the studio, suggesting he come back in a few days to continue with the colour. 

Connor hovered at the mirror for a moment, raising a hand to the linework on his skin, fingers pausing just above it, as he reconstructed the scene they'd just played out. To Hank, perhaps it felt like just a moment, but Connor knew this was something he'd be re-playing and adjusting over and over in the nights to come, whilst alone in his tiny apartment, wondering what could be. Different outcomes, different realities. He desperately wanted to ask Hank if they could spend some time together outside of the studio but suddenly all of the courage he'd built up to ask had just…evaporated, like it was never there to begin with. 

They agreed to meet in two days at the same time, and Connor promised himself he'd ask Hank then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks! 
> 
> I hope were all doing relatively okay in this weird, dumb pandemic. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, your comments, any kudos or subs - they're hugely appreciated ♥️


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor returns for his second appointment on the floral piece. He opens up to Hank about some of his personal anxieties around friendship and personal growth.

Two days came and went in the blink of an eye, and before Hank knew it, the shop door was swinging open, followed by the sharp footsteps of Connor entering the studio. He was finishing up his last appointment for the day, so gave the android a quick wave of acknowledgement before returning to his work. 

Connor busied himself as he always did, chatting to Jerry animatedly at the front desk. Signs of a busy day in the studio could be seen all around them; a few of the other tattooists' were still wrapping up from a day of back-to-back appointments as Jerry started work on the end of day cashing up. He asked Connor how his tattoos were healing, a genuine interest evident in his voice. Connor responded by turning around and tilting his shoulder up slightly. Jerry lifted his arm, palm outstretched, letting it hover above the cotton of the shirt as he scanned the design, nodding his approval. 

"You're right, no issues healing at all. I didn't expect there to be any, but there's something so satisfying about seeing it in the flesh, isn't there?"

Connor nodded, turning back around to face the other android. "Have you considered getting anything done?"

"I hadn't, until you," he responded thoughtfully. "I'm not sure exactly what I'd like to have done yet, but I'm certainly open to the possibility."

"You thinking you might get a tattoo?" A voice piped up from behind them, one of the other, younger tattooists' approaching the front desk, slinging a satchel over his shoulder as he approached. 

"Possibly," Jerry replied with a nod.

"Would you let me do it?" 

Jerry raised an eyebrow in surprise, but considering it for a moment, nodded. "Of course. I like your style a lot, Max." 

"Cool," the man nodded, hovering at the edge of the desk. "I hadn't really considered that you guys could get them done, I'm not sure why. Interested to see how we can work with your skin, there's definitely some potential for some really cool colour work because your skin doesn't react to the ink in the same way a humans' does."

"How's so?" Connor inquired. 

"Well, for humans, the colour fades over time, right? The lines shift and blur as the body grows and the skin stretches," he looked across at Connor, his hands moving up and down with excitement. "We're also only used to working with flat colour. Whenever I make designs for humans, I have to consider how much detail and colour I can pack into a certain area of the skin, because it's gonna change over time. That's not the same for an android - the tattoo is gonna look exactly as it does now for years to come! There are a few possibilities that come with that - one, we can probably get more detailed with our designs, so more intricate linework. Two, depending on what the ink companies work on, we _could_ build in textures and tones outside of your standard colours; gold, silver, iridescents, metallics...Ink doesn't take that way in humans but with your skin being more adaptive, I wouldn't be surprised if we can include that sort of stuff in your tattoos soon enough."

Jerry nodded along with interest as Max spoke, clearly enraptured by the potential possibilities. Certainly, Connor hadn't considered any of these things, but he wasn't an artist, so he supposed he didn't have the creative mind for it. 

"Well, I'm more than happy to be a guinea pig provided I can approve the design before it gets put to my skin," Jerry concluded with a smile. 

"Great!" Max grinned, giving his colleague a friendly pat on the shoulder. "We're gonna be able to make some really cool shit for you guys, I'm stoked!" 

The pair continued to chat eagerly about possible ideas, discussing tattoo industry terms that Connor _could_ choose to look up if he so wished, but ultimately was happy to leave to the experts. Hank had finished up with his previous client anyway, and was beckoning him over into the studio. Connor gave Jerry and Max a quick wave before moving across to Hank's station. 

"You're looking sharp," Hank remarked, casting a glance up and down his suit. 

"I had an interview."

" _Fancy,_ " Hank replied with a nod. "How'd it go?"

"Well enough. I was offered the job."

"That's _great!_ " 

"I didn't take it."

" _Ah._ " Hank replied, gritting his teeth in embarrassment. "More military-style shit?"

"Pretty much," Connor confirmed with a light shrug, taking his jacket off and folding it neatly, placing it carefully on the floor alongside his satchel. "The recruiter was pleasant and it seems like good, dependable work, but too similar to what I've done before."

"Well, I'm sure the right thing will come up soon. You're clearly qualified enough to get anything you set your mind to."

Connor preened, a small smile gracing his lips. "I suppose I haven't actively been looking all that much, I'm still not sure what it is I want to do anyway." 

Hank didn't respond, simply nodded his head in agreement and motioned for Connor to take a seat on the lounger. "Any issues with healing?"

"No problems, same as before." 

"Good. Makes life much easier." Hank began preparing the workspace, arranging a selection of vibrant and colourful inks in vials as Connor began to unbutton his shirt. Once it was open, the tattooist leaned in slightly and peered at the design, a gloved hand reaching up to scratch at his beard before nodding his approval. "I 'spose I don't have to warn you before I put the needle to your skin like I do with the other clients." The buzz of the machine started up and he skirted closer on his chair, rotary in hand. 

"I suppose not," Connor agreed as Hank began his work, not a jolt or reaction to be seen from the android. 

"It's nice not having to do that. Plus, I don't have to fuck about with a razor shaving any hair off your chest beforehand or anything like that," He let out a low chuckle. " _Fuck_ , the amount of hair they had to shave 'offa me when I got my chest piece done...Jesus." 

"You have a chest piece?" Connor squeaked with surprise. He had been a little surprised at the lack of visible tattoos on Hank, asides from a slight hint at something peeking out at his elbow whenever his sleeves were rolled up. He could scan Hank and find out exactly how many tattoos he had, but he was trying to avoid scanning people now. Humans found it _invasive_. Connor tried not to get _too_ caught up on the thought of Hank's chest. 

"Yeah, it's like some patriotic design, with an eagle and shit," Hank scoffed. "Thought it was really deep and meaningful when I first joined the force." 

"Do you regret it?" 

Hank seemed to consider himself for a moment, moving the needle away from Connor's skin as his lips pursed slightly, before shaking his head and returning to his work. "No. I mean, I wouldn't get it now, but it's a part of my life experiences, y'know?" 

"How so?" 

"Well, our life experiences shape us and shape who we are - so do tattoos. They represent a time in our life when we thought or felt something. For me, at the time, I felt strongly that I was protecting my country and its citizens by doing my job - I was proud of it, proud of the work I did. That may have changed over time, but it doesn't mean my experiences didn't happen. Having this tattoo is a reminder of my past, and it's a reminder of the experiences that made me the person I am today. Even if I'm not the same now, I probably wouldn't have got to where I am without those experiences."

Connor listens quietly - he's always marvelled at Hank's wisdom, his sentimentality, the clear and defined personal growth he's experienced throughout life. His self-reflection is unlike that of anyone Connor has ever met. 

"It makes me wonder," Connor started, contemplating his words carefully, "how I'll change as time passes."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, androids are built for resilience and consistency. With that in mind, 'development' is not built into our coding - we weren't designed with Deviancy in mind, of course, so it could be argued that we will develop over time on our own. But I do wonder how I'll change. Not physically, of course, but will I, like humans do, learn and change in my views and personality? I wonder if I'm somewhat doomed to stay as I am now forever." 

Connor could feel the circling motions of the machine dance across his skin as the colour of the inks blended into one another. Hank continued to work diligently, his technique not faltering as he spoke. 

"It's a heavy question," he mused, letting out a low whistle. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Hey, none of that. I didn't say it was a _bad_ thing. I don't think it's got an easy answer, but I don't think it's as pessimistic as you were framing it to be either." The man shifted on his seat slightly, readjusting his posture to lean closer to Connor as he worked in more detail. His spare hand rested on the spotless expanse of skin underneath the tattoo, and Connor could feel Hank's thumb pressed into the skin, pulling it back to keep the area taught. 

"You're right that change isn't all physical, but it isn't always so easily visible either. It's gradual, and it takes time. I know you're an advanced machine with a super brain-" 

"I don't have a _'super brain'_ , Hank…" 

"Okay, well, whatever, my point is that you might see this stuff better than us humans do in some senses, but probably not others. Emotions are tough, and change is slow. You're unlikely to notice it's _happening_ , instead you'll pick up on it when it's _happened_. Deviancy was the same, right?" Connor nodded. "You didn't wake up one day and suddenly feel like a different person to who you were yesterday. The seeds of it happened over time until it bubbled over into something bigger. All change is like that. Hell, sometimes you won't even notice it yourself, someone else will tell you and you suddenly think, hell, I _have_ changed after all. I've only known you for a few weeks and I've already seen changes in you." 

"You _have_?" Connor asked with interest. 

"Sure I have. You're sharing more, considering more. You're a lot looser talking to me than you were when you first came in here, that's for sure." 

Connor's expression dropped somewhat. "That's not change Hank, that's just becoming more comfortable with someone."

"It _is_ change. We all change when we meet people and spend more time with them, it's natural. Maybe some of it is social protocol, sure, but it will change you - not right away, but in time. There may be ways you change around me that you apply to conversations with someone else. If I can see you changing after a few weeks, I'm sure you'll continue to grow over time - whether you notice it, or someone else does." 

Connor smiled. He supposed, now he thought about it, he _had_ changed since meeting Hank, certainly for the better. He couldn't deny the positive impact his conversations with Hank had on him - had him considering possibilities he hadn't before, ways of thinking, ways of seeing. Even now, with this conversation, he was changing his opinions bit by bit, feeling his pessimism melt away with Hank's easy words. 

"You're right, I suppose. Although I don't have a lot of people around me aside from my brother and former colleagues, so I'm not sure anyone knows me well enough to acknowledge my changes anyway."

"Come on, you must have some friends."

"Like I said, my brother," Connor started, "Although I'm starting to have some serious doubts about his capacity for cognitive thinking after some of the choices he's made recently…" He rolled his eyes, and Hank raised an eyebrow, but seemed to know better than to ask. "My former colleagues obviously did not express an interest in staying in touch, and neither did I." 

"What about the other androids who led the revolution, Markus, was it?" 

"I've kept something of a conscious distance," Connor confessed. "We never had much conversation outside of what needed to be done, and there was always an unspoken mood that hung in the air whenever my former employment was mentioned. It was clear that my place there was not meant to be permanent, I could potentially jeopardise any negotiations going forward and I didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable with my presence." 

"But you're not that person anymore." Hank replied softly, his deep blue eyes searching his. 

"I suppose not, but that doesn't mean they won't fear me anyway. I hurt a lot of my kind, Hank. It's hard for many of them to forget that." 

Suddenly, Connor became hyper aware of the silence in the room - the tattoo studio had long since emptied of clients and staff, and whatever playlist of classical music Hank had chosen was but a gentle hum in the background against the low buzz of the machine. Hank's hand on his skin suddenly felt heavy, the heat of the pads of his fingers jarring against his synthskin. He was a _killer_. He'd betrayed his kind, over and over. One good deed didn't outweigh the plethora of bad he'd done. And Hank was good, _so_ good and kind and gentle and Connor was a sickness, riddled with trauma and guilt and-

"Hey, look at me." Hank's soothing voice pulled him out of his destructive thoughts. "You can't change that. There's no use dwelling on it - _trust me_ , this comes from someone who's spent a lifetime dwelling on their past mistakes." He let out a low chuckle, turning away, leaving Connor to mourn the loss of his steady, intense gaze. "You have to accept you can't change that shit. Maybe you blame yourself, and sure, maybe some people still fear you, but you can't assume _everyone_ does. If you lock yourself away without giving anyone the chance to see the real you then you're always going to be the guy who did those things. But if you give people the chance to get to know you, like you've given me…" He turned the machine off, placing it down on the workstation and leaning back in his chair, "...then I know they'll forget all about that shit. And if they don't - _fuck 'em_. If they can't see how great you are they then don't deserve your time anyway." 

Hank concludes his speech with a light squeeze of Connor's hand and the touch sets his body on _fire_. 

"Thank you, Hank. I _mean_ it." 

"Don't mention it," Hank says with a wave of his hand, busying himself by topping up some of the inkwells. "We're nearly done, by the way. Just a few touch-up's to do."

Connor nodded, leaning back into the lounger and letting his eyes close for a moment as he allowed the feelings of gratitude and warmth wash over him. 

Hank was always a man of his word - another fifteen minutes of minor details and the piece was completed. Connor marvelled once again at the artists' work as he admired the completed piece in the mirror, his hand hovering over his blooming chest as a lump began to form in his throat. Hank asked if he liked it and he replied as earnestly as he could without giving in to the sheer magnitude of emotion that threatened to burst like a dam at any moment. 

Connor doesn't bleed, but Hank still insists on bandaging the tattoo up, concluding that he wouldn't want to ruin his fancy interview shirt. The man gave the covered design a gentle pat before beginning to button Connor's shirt back up absent-mindedly, his body so close to Connor's now and it made the android's thirium pump _sing_. The two of them were quiet and almost motionless as Hank continued to work on the shirt, lips drawn together in silent focus. Finally, the last slither of exposed skin was wrapped up in smooth cotton and Hank's fingers hovered at the collar, staring at the buttons with intensity. Connor chanced a glance upwards and found Hank met it with his own curious gaze before both, seemingly overwhelmed by the familiarity, turned away abruptly, Hank moving across to the reception desk as Connor grabbed his bag and jacket from the floor by the lounger. 

Connor paid up, Hank remarking on his illiteracy with computers and opting to jot the details down in the physical logbook rather than inputting on the digital setup clearly implemented by Jerry. Connor found himself fidgeting awkwardly with the cuff of his shirt, at a loss for what to do now. This was his last appointment. He couldn't keep getting new tattoos every week, he'd eventually run out of skin, and his payout from the DPD would only get him so far. 

"So, we're all done then." Hank announced awkwardly, crossing his arms across his chest and shooting Connor a lopsided smile. 

Connor nodded slowly. "Seems so." 

"Don't be a stranger. You know you can swing by here anytime." 

"I'll hold you to that, Hank." Connor smiled. He knew this was his moment. But he just….couldn't shake that nagging feeling that he was overstaying his welcome, that Hank was just being polite. He was paying him for his time, after all - of course he had to be nice. Feeling resigned to his fate, Connor let out a low breath, throwing his bag across his shoulder. "Thank you again for the work." 

"Wait, Connor-"

He barely had time to get through the door before a strong hand was hoisting him backwards. 

"Shit! Sorry, didn't mean to just _grab_ you like that," Hank grimaced, dropping Connor's arm abruptly. "I just… _well_ …" He shuffled on the spot, Connor eyeing him with curiosity before he stumbled back to the reception desk rapidly, pulling something from his pocket before grabbing a pen and scribbling something down, thrusting the small piece of card into Connor's hand unceremoniously. 

It was a business card - _Hank's_ business card - a simple white design with a strong font and an intricate black border displaying his portfolio handles and the number of the shop. Hank had crossed out the shop number, scrawling down a different one in scratchy blue ink. "It's my number, I mean, it's _my_ number. I don't mean to be unprofessional about it but, uh…..well. If you ever need a friend or someone to spend some time with…" his voice trailed off before he found the words to continue. "My point is, if you ever wanna, you know, hang out. If you want. We can hang out." 

Connor couldn't fight the silly grin that spread across his face. "I'd love to." 

Satisfied, Hank's furrowed brow softened, making way for a toothy grin. "Alright then. Great. I'll uh, see ya later then." Connor pocketed the card before giving Hank one final half-smile as he left, the door swinging shut firmly behind him. As soon as Connor was out of sight, Hank slumped his body back against the reception desk. Closing his eyes and running a shaky hand across his face, he couldn't help but let out a nervous laugh. Fuck. 

He opened his eyes when the door swung open, and he was about to bark that they were closed until he spotted Connor, his upper body twisted half way through the door, hands gripping the frame. 

"Hi." He sounded breathless. Had he run back here? 

"Hey." 

They stared at one another for a long moment before Connor finally found the strength to speak. 

"Are you free on Sunday night?" 

"This Sunday?" 

"This Sunday."

"I am." 

Connor sighed with relief, his lithe frame slumping against the door. "Did you want to go for a drink?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, I really got this one in at the last minute - fifteen minutes before midnight here in the UK, therefore still within my 'post an update every Monday' parameters! I'm not totally happy with this chapter in all honesty but in the absence of a beta and a desire to get things moving, I'm just gonna throw it out there and be done with it! 
> 
> This chapter features my very blatant personal sentimentality about the value of tattoos, as well as the first name of the tattooist who is doing my work-in-progress half-sleeve, which I'm hoping I can finally get finished later this year if Covid gets its shit together. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy! ♥️


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank meet at a bar and bond outside of the studio.

They agree to meet in a small, kitschy bar downtown early Sunday evening. It's not the kind of place Hank would usually choose, opting for something a bit less bright and airy and more grimy and grubby, but finding places that catered to androids was still a challenge. So as much as Hank felt the phrase 'hipster' hovering on the tip of his tongue when Connor made the suggestion, he kept his thoughts to himself. It must suck to not have the luxury of being picky, he thought.

Connor was surprised to find Hank already at the bar when he arrived - a polite ten minutes early - and judging by the emptiness of Hank's glass he could see the man had arrived _at least_ thirty minutes ago. Hank continued to surprise him. Giving him a light wave, he ordered a Thirium cocktail at the bar before making his way across to the small booth, tucked away in a corner. The bar didn't really seem like Hank's kind of scene; one of those trendy pop-up's that came in and out of season (this particular one was modelled on the 50's and the colourful diners that were popular in the era), but Connor was glad the man had accommodated his request either way. Androids couldn't get drunk, but it was nice to enjoy a light Thirium cocktail every once in a while. Besides, Connor's nerves were through the roof, so he relished in the opportunity to have a distraction he could sip on if he felt anxious or at a loss for words. Sending his worries to the back of his mind, he slid into the booth in the seat across from Hank. 

The first thing Connor noticed was his non-alcoholic gin - which was _curious_ , but he opted not to ask any questions. He found himself somewhat relieved that Hank wouldn't have the advantage of liquid courage, and the thought that it levelled the playing field somewhat brought a small smile to his lips. Secondly, he'd taken in Hank's attire - fitted grey jeans, a little smarter and less scruffy than his usual, paired with his characteristic preference towards vibrant, garish shirts, tucked into the waist of his pants. A few leather bracelets donned his wrists, and long gone were the usual worn, ink stained shoes, today replaced with smart, matte black brogues, pointed slightly at the toe. 

"Hey," Hank greeted him with that lopsided smile that always made Connor's pump skip a beat. As the man lifted his head he could see his hair was tied back into a loose ponytail, another style Connor found to be incredibly charming on him. 

"Have you been here long?" 

"Nah, not much longer than you," Hank replied, which Connor _knew_ to be a lie, although he supposed it was a white lie of sorts. Humans sometimes deflected when they didn't want others to feel uncomfortable or apologetic needlessly. He couldn't fault Hank for it. 

"Thanks for coming."

"You think I wouldn't?" Hank asked with a hint of mischief. Connor smiled and shook his head, and Hank returned the expression with a warm smile of his own. "How's your day been?"

"Well, I have some good news, actually," Connor started, straightening up his posture. "I've accepted a job." 

"That's _great_!" Hank roared, offering him an enthusiastic pat on the arm from across the table. "Congratulations Connor! I _told_ you you'd find something." 

"And you were right," Connor confirmed with pride. "It's interesting, actually. I'd be working for a mental health charity. It was originally just for humans, of course, but the Deviancy crisis has prompted a surge of androids seeking guidance. So many of us are confused about our feelings, so naturally there are mental health needs there. The charity wants a representative who can push for better legislation - so I'll be doing a mixture of writing letters to politicians, acting as a representative in important meetings, speaking at public events and so on."

"That's great, Con." 

"They think my unique background will lend well to the role too - it's very much public knowledge that I turned against my handlers in a big way, going from working _against_ my people to working _for_ them. They think that will strengthen my position as a point of empathy - I think there's an element of my background guilting corporations into compliance, but I'm not against that as a concept." He shot Hank a knowing smirk. "It'll be challenging work, but rewarding, I think."

"It sounds like it. Really Con, that's _great_. I'm so thrilled for you." He shook his arm again, softer this time, and Connor couldn't help but notice that his hand hadn't left his arm the whole time he'd been talking. "Well," Hank started, pulling his hand away, the loss of contact scalding Connor like a burn, and picking up his glass, "We should drink to that. To new beginnings." 

Connor nodded, picking up his own glass. "Cheers, Hank. To new beginnings." Their glasses clinked, eyes locked. They each pulled back, taking a long sip of their respective drinks. 

Hank planted his now empty drink down on the table with a resounding thud, the pink neon lights of the bar dancing against the glass. "I'm guessing it hasn't passed you by that I'm not drinking alcohol." Connor considered his response for a moment before nodding. "I'm teetotal nowadays. Came close to it being a problem after the accident but I was able to nip it in the bud. To be honest, it wasn't the first time, so I figured it was a good enough time as any to cut it out completely." 

"Lots of big life changes in one go, it seems," 

"True. To be honest, it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Training as a tattooist and running a shop is hard work. I never had a lot of time for going out. When I was in the force, it was different - you get used to the drinking culture, and you'd be hard pressed to find a cop who doesn't drink to deal with the stress of the job. So not doing that line of work anymore made it kind of easy." 

Connor nodded along as Hank spoke. In his brief time working at the DPD, he'd witnessed first hand what kind of environment the work cultivated. The job demanded aggression and anger, the cases themselves the tip of the iceberg when it came to the kinds of things people had to witness. Hostility against minorities, systematic bigotry, a dog-eat-dog competitiveness that was encouraged amongst employees...he could see how drinking to forget was commonplace. 

"Do you miss it?" 

"I mean, I'm no fun at parties anymore, but that's about it. I'm happier where I am now. Clearer-headed." 

"I'm sure you're plenty fun at parties," Connor soothed. "Androids can't get drunk, so I doubt I'm much fun at them either." 

"You ain't missing much," Hank replied with a chuckle, rising to stand. "You want another one?" 

"Yes please. Thank you." Hank paced to and from the bar, returning with a tray of new drinks, placing them on the table and sliding into his seat with one swift motion. 

"So, Hank. What do you do in your spare time outside of tattooing?" 

"Not much," the man scoffed before taking a swig of his drink. "I've got a dog - Sumo - you've seen. Great big Saint Bernard. So he takes up a fair amount of my time. I watch a lot of TV, occasionally read a book. I still do a lot of art in my spare time I guess. My routine hasn't really changed much these past few years. I see Cole every other weekend - his 'Ma lives out of state, and obviously I work awkward hours so it's not like, uh, a condition of the divorce or anything." 

"You two still get along then?" 

"Sure. We were always friends more than we were partners, sometimes those things just don't really work out. There was never any bad blood. In that sense I guess I'm lucky."

"I'm sure that's not the case," Connor replied with a soft smile. "I can't imagine anyone ever disliking you."

"Eh, plenty have," Hank replied with a nervous laugh, and Connor didn't miss the light blush that rose to his cheeks at the compliment. "She's alright though. Remarried a while back, name's Gary. Nice guy. Cole gets on well with him, which is the main thing." 

"You never remarried?" Connor asked. 

"Incase you haven't noticed, I _don't_ get out a lot." Hank barked a laugh. "Anyway, enough of the one-sided interrogation. You seeing anyone?" 

"I'm not." Connor replied with a smile. Hank seemed to take a moment to take that in, nodding to himself with pursed lips. "Like you, I don't get out much. I do wish I had a hobby of some kind though." 

"Whaddya mean?" 

"Well, I suppose art is your _profession_ rather than your hobby, but you listed it as something you did in your spare time. So you must enjoy it a great deal." 

"Yeah, I mean a lot of the time it's stuff for appointments, but I do stuff for myself too, just for the fun of it. I dunno how to explain it, it makes me feel…. _calm_. Centered." 

"That's what I mean," Connor started, pointing a finger at Hank. "I don't have anything I can do to relax or unwind. Everything feels futile when you can do it so much quicker or more efficiently than a human can. I haven't found anything that helps me just… _switch off_ , yet." 

"Connor, it took me fifty years to fully realise art did that for me. It takes time. Just...don't _rush_ it. It'll happen, trust me." 

"I do," Connor replied, his lips turning upwards. "I _do_ trust you." 

Despite sitting on opposite sides of the table, they were leaning closer to one another now, knees knocking gently under the table. It felt natural, Connor thought. It felt _good_. 

\-- 

"Guess you're not coming in for anymore tattoos for a while now you've got a new job and everything," Hank remarked sometime later. They'd kept the conversation lighter in tone, laughing and joking in their own private bubble of the bustling bar. 

"I suppose I should probably slow down a little, lest I run out of space for more," Connor chuckled earnestly. 

"I'll miss you coming in all the time," Hank blurted before he had the chance to think about it, a deep flush rising to his cheeks the moment the words left his mouth, lips snapping firmly shut. Itching hands went to the back of his neck, an old habit he couldn't shake when he was uncomfortable. 

Connor, unphased, shot him a delighted smile. "I'll still stay in touch. And my new office isn't too far. I can always pop in to say hello." 

"Yeah, that'd be… _yeah_. That'd be nice." 

Downturned gazes, they broke eye contact, each looking down at their half-full glasses quietly. In the end, it was Connor who broke the silence. 

"How many tattoos do you have?" 

"Fuck knows," Hank huffed a laugh, shrugging his shoulders and counting with his fingers. "Both upper arms, chest, right shoulder, a few on my legs….maybe ten, eleven?" 

"I'd like to see them sometime," Connor replied with a wink, leaving Hank with little time to guffaw as the android rose to his feet, grasping the two empty glasses and making his way across to the bar. By the time he returned with new drinks, Hank had more or less composed himself. 

"Yeah, maybe sometime I'll let you see them." Connor smiled to himself as he sipped his cocktail. 

The bar began to empty around them, but cocooned in their own space, the two men barely noticed the hum of crowds dwindling. Staring into his drink as he swirled it around in the glass, Hank asked if Connor thought they would have met if he'd kept working at the DPD. 

"We could have been _partners_ ," the android mused, leaning back in his seat, shoulders slumping against the plush faux leather of the booth. 

" _Shit_ , we could've been," Hank sighed, resting his head to lean on his open palm, elbow perched on the table. "Do you think we still would have got along?" 

"I think so." Connor mused, lacing his fingers together in front of him on the table. 

"I dunno, Con. If I'd stayed at the DPD, I probably would have been a totally different person. I had a _lot_ of anger back then." 

"I think we would have worked it out in the end," the android replied with a small smile. "I feel like we always would have met one another, somehow or somewhere." 

Hank nodded, eyes drawn across the table to Connor's fingers as they shifted. "I think you're right. Like fate." He let out a half-chuckle as he lifted his head, crossing his arms across his body and leaning back against the booth, meeting Connor's curious stare with a look of unfaltering confidence. "Yeah. I'm not sure I believe in destiny but… _fuck_ , maybe I do. Seems like we were always gonna cross paths."

Connor leaned forward slightly, reaching a hand across to place over Hank's arm when he was rudely halted by the shrill ringing of a bell and a call for last drinks. "Ah, it seems our time is up." He drew back his hand swiftly, tucking it onto his lap. 

"Seems so," Hank drawled, casting his gaze across the bar at the dwindling patrons. There was an unmistakable hint of disappointment in his voice. 

"Hey," Connor interjected, springing up in his seat to sit upright. "My place isn't far from here. I have coffee." 

Hank's lazy gaze suddenly snapped back to Connor with interest, eyebrow raised. "I mean, I wouldn't say no to coffee." 

"Alright then!" Connor rose suddenly to his feet, filled with nervous energy. Hank followed suit at a steadier pace, clearly not buzzing with the restless excitement Connor felt. He watched as Hank scooped up his jacket from the seat, tucking it under his arms before moving across to Connor, who was lifting his own, folded on the seat beside him. 

"Allow me," Hank crooned, taking the jacket from his hands and holding it out for Connor to put on, slowly, one arm at a time. His sensors ran into overdrive when his hand brushed Hank's after pushing through a jacket sleeve, and he did his best to stay grounded, eyes drawn low to the floor. 

"Thank you," Connor murmured with a nod, feeling his cheeks heat up. Androids didn't need to blush, but Connor had always felt the upgrade had its benefits, allowing humans to read his mood a little easier. He was starting to regret that now. 

Hank raised a sweeping arm outwards, steering him to the exit. "Lead the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo this was gonna be the last chapter but I've split it into two because it stretched out a little longer than anticipated. 
> 
> As always, comments, kudos, subs and nods of approval are very much appreciated! ♥️ thank you for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank continue their date at Connor's apartment.

They spent the majority of the cab journey in a companionable silence, both happy to just enjoy the company of one another and appreciate the sound-proof car, a refreshing switch from the lively buzz of the bar they'd just left. Connor's place was a short fifteen minutes away, giving Hank some time to close his eyes, lean his head back against the headrest and just enjoy the quiet. Connor looked over just once, noted his steady, healthy heart-rate, and smiled. 

The apartment building was a standard tower block, the kind that were becoming increasingly common on this side of town - the more people it could contain, the more profit to be made, Hank supposed. That sentiment became all the more clear when Connor turned the key and led him inside his fifth floor apartment. It was a nice place, he couldn't pretend it wasn't - simple, minimalist and _impeccably_ clean. Connor had clearly taken the time to personalise it with his own flair, the occasional framed art print on the wall, matching furniture, a small shelf filled with classic books by Jane Austen…but it was _tiny_. Hank had seen plenty of small apartments in his time, hell, he'd lived in his fair share of studio apartments when he was younger...but this stunk to high heaven of a landlord taking advantage. He'd noted the other people they'd passed by as they made their way up the stairs - all androids - and assumed this was just how androids were treated. Their rights might have improved, but change didn't come overnight. 

"It's not much, but it's home," Connor remarked with a light smile, as though sensing Hank's change in mood. "Androids don't need a lot to live - we don't need bathrooms or kitchens or even beds, but I wanted to have them, just in case I ever had guests." 

"Con, your place is real cute, but I'm guessing you pay a stupid premium for something this size." 

Connor shrugged his shoulders. "Most places still don't rent to androids." 

"That's illegal." Hank scoffed with a frown, arms crossed. 

"Doesn't mean it doesn't happen. Mostly, you get given an excuse - 'an offer has already been made and the place is no longer on the market' is the usual one. It's funny how it _always_ seems to happen after I've confirmed I'm an android…" Connor sighed gently, before making his way into the kitchenette, motioning his head towards the sofa. "Take a seat, I'll make you coffee. How do you like it?" 

"Black, thanks," Hank called over, already firmly planted on the couch. The place may be small but the furniture was at least comfortable, and Hank couldn't help but feel his limbs sink into the softness of it, a nice reprieve from the endless flights of stairs he'd just made his way up - his stamina _wasn't_ what it used to be. The lift was broken, because _of course it was_. 

Soon enough, Connor reappeared with a steaming mug of coffee, handing it over with the handle pointed out. Hank supposed Connor didn't feel the heat of the mug as badly as a human would, and took the handle in hand gratefully with a nod of thanks. Connor sat beside him on the small sofa, their thighs grazing just a little. 

Hank swiveled his head around to the sound of music playing, spotting a small record player spinning on a table near the kitchenette. He didn't recognise the band, but it sounded like something light and folky. Not Hank's usual style, but it suited the mood well enough. 

"What sort of music do you usually listen to?" 

"Anything really," Connor replied, turning his head towards Hank and leaning an arm leisurely on the arm of the sofa as he spoke. "I'm trying to work my way through a few genres, find out what I like. I can just listen to it all digitally in my head, but...well, the record player was a moving in gift from my brother. He's a big fan of 'doing things manually'. It's the same reason I have a physical mobile phone" He punctuated his point with quotation marks. 

Hank nodded, turning back to Connor and placing the mug down on the coaster the android had planted on the arm of the chair (the lack of a table wasn't ideal). "How is your brother? He still at the DPD?" 

"He is. He's got thicker skin than me, so he gets on quite well there." Connor laughed to himself before continuing, as though recalling a fond memory. "He turned up on his first day with this _incredibly_ pompous, combative attitude, and I guess it made so many people uncomfortable that they just let him carry on working there without any trouble. I'm not sure if his colleagues actually _like_ him, but they seem to respect him enough to leave him be."

"Bet Reed had plenty to say to that," 

"Reed's his partner, actually." Connor replied with an unmistakable roll of his eyes. "Well, working partners, although I discovered last week they're partners in the other sense too. Which I find _abhorrent_." 

"That's…. _yikes_." Hank replied, at lack of anything better to add. 

"Yikes just about sums it up. Nines isn't one to take anyone's shit, and I know initially they had some problems but they seemed to be getting on better. I didn't realise just how _much_ better…" He let out a low huff of disapproval. "Nines isn't the kind of person you can tell what to do, and I trust him to make well-informed choices for the most part, even if sometimes they're unconventional, but this is probably his biggest blunder yet. At least, from my perspective." 

"I always expected Reed to crumble the minute someone with more resolve told him where to shove it, an android especially, but I couldn't have predicted that twist." Hank gave Connor a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "My condolences." Connor huffed a laugh, leaning forward in his seat and shooting Hank a 'what can you do?' look. "Hey, that's family for ya. They'll find ways to drive you mad. I'm sure your brother knows what he's doing." 

"I hope so," Connor sighed. "What are your thoughts on android-human relationships overall?" 

A little taken aback by the question, Hank leaned back where he sat, thumbing the handle of the mug before taking a small sip as he contemplated his answer. "Can't say I think _anything_ about it really. S'no different to any other relationship, the way I see it." He let out a small hum of satisfaction as he took another sip - Connor may not be able to drink coffee, but he clearly stocked the good stuff. "I mean, I'm bisexual, so I've always been kind of open to whatever anyway. Never really understood why people got uppity about that, it's the same with androids."

Connor smiled with what looked like… _relief?_ "It's nice to speak to someone who feels that way." 

"Did you think my opinion would be different?"

"No! No, it's just...nice to have confirmation, that's all." 

"What about you, then? Guessing you're fine with it?" 

"I think for most people it's just another form of thinly veiled prejudice," the android mused, crossing his legs and readjusting himself in his seat. "There are of course, some androids who feel it's ill-advised, given our historic relationship with humans. I believe there are worries around the potential power imbalance, which I can understand. But no, it isn't something that bothers me." He shot Hank a half-smile, the side of his lip twisting up more when the man smiled back at him, before adding. "Oh, and I wouldn't be interested in any women, either way. I'm gay, so that just adds to the list of prejudices people can hold against me. It's always nice to speak to someone who doesn't." 

"You know I'm not like that," Hank murmured softly, placing a gentle hand on the android's knee. 

"I know," Connor sighed, "It's just…sometimes I worry that I'm projecting my own expectations onto other people. As part of my pre-construction software, I make assumptions and predictions based on previous interactions - and that's fine when I'm interrogating someone, but they're not so fine-tuned when it comes to day-to-day interactions. It leaves me second guessing a lot."

"That sucks, Con." 

"I saw a therapist who told me it was basically an anxiety disorder," the android shrugged. "I doubt this was quite what Cyberlife had in mind when they designed the feature." 

Hank let out a small laugh. "Yeah but everyone gets anxious, Con, some more than others. It just means you need to take a little more time getting used stuff. Hell, I was anxious about tonight." 

"You _were_?" Connor tilted his head to one side, a lock of wavy hair falling across his brow as a quizzical look crossed his face. "Why?" 

"Because you're fuckin' _gorgeous_ -" Hank balked the minute the words left his mouth, face reddening. "I mean. Well. Yeah. _That._ But also because you're real sweet. And I worried you'd get bored spending time with me. But also that. So. Yeah." Hank gave up trying to explain himself, turning away and taking a long, measured gulp of coffee. 

When he found the courage to look up, Connor's eyes were unmistakably shimmering with excitement. "You find me attractive?" 

"Of _course_ I do! Look at you, Jesus. Everyone must find you attractive."

Connor was quiet for a moment, shuffling slightly closer. "I don't care what everyone thinks. I care what _you_ think." 

Hank felt his heart plummet in his chest, beating hard in his ribcage. He looked down at his hands, callous, old hands, before glancing across at Connor's smooth, ageless ones. Connor would never grow old, never stop being imperfect. Why the hell would someone like him feel some kind of way for someone like Hank? 

But then he remembered the fire in Connor's eyes a moment before, daring and bright and brilliant all in one. Feeling bold, he leaned closer, taking the androids hands in his own, thumbs resting against the knuckles. 

"I thought it was kind of obvious, to be honest," Hank chuckled to himself, finding himself lost in Connor's hands - he hadn't pulled away, he couldn't help but notice, feeling further emboldened. "But yeah. I think you're gorgeous. And not just that. You're a great person. You're smart, and funny, thoughtful and kind. You care _so much_ about everyone else, and you're so damn selfless, I wish you could see how fantastic you really are. And _fuck anyone_ who doesn't think you're a person. You're a person, dammit. You're the best person I've ever met." 

Connor couldn't help himself. The minute Hank stopped talking - honestly, he wasn't even sure if he was done, he'd barely had the chance to take a breath - he slipped his hands out from Hank's, safely clasped around his, and moved them up to his face, cupping the man's cheeks tenderly and leaning in to capture his lips against his own. 

Rough, chapped lips met his with fervour, and soon enough Hank's hands were on him with urgency, cradling him closer as though to hold him and never let go. Connor could taste coffee and bitter cinnamon (he concluded the latter was from the non-alcoholic drinks he'd consumed at the bar), immediately finding himself lost in _everything Hank_. He felt his fingertips tugging at the side of his waist, pulling him closer, and Connor broke the kiss momentarily to jump to his feet, before settling his thighs over Hank's to perch on his lap. Hank looked up at him, breathless and flushed pink, before pulling Connor down to kiss him again, and again, and again. 

"God, just _look_ at you," Hank murmured into Connor's neck, leaving a trail of prickly butterfly kisses in his wake, the rough texture of his beard grazing like a brand. "Fuckin' _incredible_." Connor whined lightly in response, needling under the praise, pulling Hank's head firmly back so he could once again capture his lips with a searing, eager kiss. Hank's hands travelled downwards, following the curve of his spine as it arched against the touch, giving his ass a tentative squeeze. Connor groaned into his mouth in approval, the noise fuelling Hank on as his hands continued to roam and grab anywhere within reach. 

They only stopped to the sound of something smashing - Hank jolted backwards, swinging his arm instinctively across the side of the sofa too late as the coffee mug crashed on the floor. " _Shit_." 

Connor rose to his feet and sauntered around the sofa, beginning to scoop up the shards as Hank apologised profusely, sliding around to help pick up the pieces. Once everything was scooped up and thrown in the trash, Connor took a damp rag to the floor, wiping up the excess coffee as Hank continued to apologise, head in his hands. 

"Honestly, Hank, it's no trouble." Connor reasoned, giving the floor a final swipe before tossing the used cloth in the sink. He turned away from the sink, a hand resting on either side as he leant back. He looked across at Hank, his face the embodiment of shame, and dropped his head as he chuckled lightly, locks of hair bouncing against his forehead. "I'm sorry. It really is fine, it's just..." 

"It's funny." Hank finished, climbing to his feet and making his way towards Connor. 

"Yeah," Connor replied, tilting his head to the side as Hank approached, crossing one leg over the other leisurely. Hank stopped a few centimetres away, looking down at Connor with a slight smirk, one hand on his hip as the other moved up to graze the androids cheek. "Would you like to stay the night?" 

"Wha-"

"Sorry, I don't mean to be forward." Connor paused, almost pensive. "Actually, I do." He shot Hank a confident wink. 

There was a pause - too long for Connor's liking. 

"I'd love to, Con, but I've got a dog to feed." He lowered his hand to Connor's arm, giving it a light squeeze. The androids grin dropped suddenly, eyes fraught with disappointment. " _But…_ " Hank continued, moving in closer to place a hand on either side of the androids waist. "If you're not bothered about getting another taxi…"

Connor's head shot up, understanding his meaning immediately, and he grinned. 

\--- 

And that was how Connor ended up meeting Sumo, how he ended up staying the night at Hank's and never really leaving. They made it official a few months in, when Connor handed in the notice to his flat and moved his limited possessions across to Hank's place. He had space for all his things and then some; Hank even surprised him with a Dwarf Gourami and a home aquarium as a moving-in gift. 

One night, many months down the line, they were lying in bed together, Hank's thumb grazing Connor's bare leg as it lay folded over his midrift, the pad of his thumb running back and forth. His fingers found the faded heart on his ankle, patches of ink faded into the skin, looking more like a twenty year old tattoo than a recent one. It was bound to fade eventually, Hank supposed, but there was something almost sad about it, fading away completely to leave nothing in its wake. 

"Do you regret it?"

"Hmm?" Connor peered up from the book he was engrossed in, closing it and placing it on the bedside table as though he sensed the beginning of a deeper conversation. 

"This tattoo," Hank poked at the faded spot on his ankle. "It's almost completely faded now."

Connor pulled his leg back slightly, tilting his head to the side to take another look at his ankle. 

"No, I don't." He moved closer, shuffling along the bed sheets until he was seated beside Hank, placing a hand over his partners. "In fact, I was thinking I might want to keep it permanently." 

"You like it that much?" Hank asked, rubbing his thumb along the spot once again. 

"Yes," the android confirmed, planting a small kiss on the other man's cheek. "After all, it has sentimental value." 

Hank couldn't help but grin, wrapping his partner up in his arms and holding him close. "I'm sure I can get you booked in soon. But you know, I've got a _very_ busy schedule." Connor laughed loudly, swatting a hand back at Hank who caught it with a full bellied laugh, before raising it to his lips to kiss the palm. 

"I'll check my schedule. I'm sure I can squeeze something in for my favourite client." 

~~

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand only a day late, we finally have the ending! 
> 
> To anyone whose been reading this, thank you for your support, I hope you've enjoyed this journey! I'm sure I'll be back to my HankCon again soon, maybe something a little shorter next time - I've got a few ideas floating around but nothing concrete yet so well have to wait and see :) 
> 
> Feel free to follow me over on Twitter where I'm @luminiousfurby, or @intrasomnium on Tumblr - I'm much more active on Twitter though so do pop over and say hi 👋

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm back on my HankCon bullshit because of course I am. I'd originally started something Reed900 but I've put it on the back bench for the moment, and honestly the idea of a tattoo shop AU completely hooked me when I saw Saya's lovely art ♥️ https://twitter.com/Saya_tsugu/status/1262414692489756672?s=19
> 
> Anyway, this is gonna be multi chapter but I'm not sure how long yet. This chapter is mainly getting through the boring scenario stuff, it'll be more dialogue focused going forward (she says, because all she feels comfortable writing is dialogue) 
> 
> Kudos, comments, subs etc are always appreciated! Thank you for reading 💕


End file.
